


Sulena Nadas'din

by AnonymousInquisitor



Series: To Sing [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Elvhenan, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fall of Arlathan, Fall of Elvhenan, Minor Violence, Post-Endgame, Sexual Content, Spoilers, Time Travel, Young Solas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 65,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousInquisitor/pseuds/AnonymousInquisitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a K!Meme prompt, listed in chapter one.</p><p>In the wake of Corypheus’ defeat, Ellana Lavellan is given no chance to celebrate her victory for the orb Solas sought lay broken at their feet and the man vanished from her view… Before she, too, vanished from the Inquisition’s sights. When she awoke, she found herself in a strange time, where castles float in the skies, and gods roam the land.</p><p>She has fallen into the hands of the Dread Wolf who wears the mask of Pride, and must find a way to win his favor to make her way home.</p><p>If only it were so simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Displaced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I had mentioned I was starting on something in the last chapter of Dreamless and here it is. This work has been consuming for months and I have finally started editing the drafts.
> 
> The prompt is as follows: What if something threw F!Lavellan into the past with a chance to prevent it all? The civil war that destroyed Arlathan. Solas/Fen'harel sealing his fellow gods and condemning himself to a life of loneliness and hatred. Her people becoming little more than pawns to the humans who swept down from the North to conquer the remnants of the ancient empire? However, time travel is not always easy, and Lavellan must truly confront the ideas that very little of what the Dalish perceived of the old ways was right. All the while dealing with the fact that in this past, her Solas, Fen'harel is an altogether different entity than the quiet bookworm she remembers. (Though at his heart, I imagine Solas was always a kind person regardless of this fact. Though you can play with the dominance angle if you like.)
> 
> Basically a longer prompt were I'd really like to see the writer anon tackle what we've learned about the ancient elves in DA:I and actually round it into a cohesive vision. Petty gods, enslaved elves, Solas and Fen'harel during a time he was seen as more than an usurper and traitor, and a time when elves just might have been immortal after all.
> 
> The title translates to: To Sing of the Inevitable End
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for reading.

Ellana stared up at the sky, scarred with tangles of light, but quiet in the aftermath. There was no more breach, Corypheus thrown into the Fade by a rift of her own creation. Debris of the Temple of Sacred Ashes lay around her, once held in the sky by the power of the one who claimed to be a god. She turned to find Solas, and found him crouched down and staring at something on the ground. She approached with tentative steps until she saw fragments of the orb, the largest of them cradled gently in his hands. It was broken, but he still handled it as if it were precious.

"Solas?"

 "The orb..." He sounded so broken, so distant, she was unfamiliar with that infliction of tone from him.

"We could try to fix it --"

"That would not recover what has been lost." He interrupted before she could finish her suggestion. He placed the broken piece of the orb down amongst the others, gently, with reverence. He rose, graceful with his motions fluid, and turned to her. His eyes met hers and the look on his face made her heart clench, ache.

She had never seen him look so broken, an appearance that matched that tone in his voice. Both were unknown to her, until this moment. Both of them held tears, restrained but she saw them on the precipice, saw a man about to shatter like he was about to lose all he had held dear.

"There's more...?" She pressed, gently, for answers. Desperate for the answers he had promised, should they have survived. And, they were both breathing.

"It was not supposed to happen this way. No matter what comes, I want you to know what we had was real." He backed away from her as she began her approach a single step. She froze, wanting to approach but not wanting to send him away. He, too, hesitated, as if he wanted to do the same for her. To reach out and comfort, to offer something. Instead, her eyes searched for answers in his face but found none.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra's voice cut through the silence between them, the shrill panic of her voice was like ice water had been poured over her head. She had never heard the woman sound so afraid.

She turned to where the woman's voice drifted from, looked down the stairs where she was certain the rest of the Inquisition had now gathered in the wake of their victory. She was thankful for the fact that they waited on her, rather than rush the stairs. Hopefully, they would remain until she could receive answers.

"A moment, Cassandra!" She called in answer, hoped that would assure their privacy for the time being. Solas had previously shown reluctance towards sharing information among the humans, and she did not think now would be any different, despite the time spent with their companions. He was secretive, even among them. His expression never softened around them, except around Cole.

She turned to him again, assured that they would not be intruded upon but the man was gone from where she had last seen him standing. She rushed forward, desperate to find him. He could not have gone far in that short period of time. Yet, there was no trace of him when she came to a stop. It was as if he had vanished. No answers, no note, nothing aside from the questions he always left in his wake.

Her gaze dropped down to the orb that now lay at her feet, blinking back the tears as she knelt down to the ground. The orb was quiet, lifeless, unlike how it felt when she held it in her hands moments ago and used it to close the breach. It was strange that it would simply die like that. She reached down, and with a gentle reverence, took the two largest pieces into her hands and cradled them as gently as he had.

"Why was this so important to him?" Clearly, it was more than wanting to research the artifact and preserve their culture if he vanished.

She sighed as she gingerly pieced the two parts together. They melded together as if they were always meant to be, as if they had never parted. From their union, a spark burst from the unseen seam between them. From the spark began a hum, the life of the orb suddenly restored and vibrant. It grew louder, quickly, the hum soon became a sharp ringing that left her deaf to all else. The sparks began to multiply, spilling forth from the crack before they climbed up along her arms.

 _'Release it! Quickly!'_ The voices of the Well broke in through the ringing, a brief relief to the sharp sound in her ears.

Her hands trembled before she tilted them forward and allowed the orb to fall. It struck the ground, but it did not break. Instead, light burst forth and left her blind as well as deaf. Shouts, muffled, made distant by the ringing, joined in. Cassandra's, from the pitch, and then Dorian's joined followed. The others followed, too many to distinguish separately. She turned to the direction that she had known the stairs to be, desperate to get away.

She fell. Backwards. The sensation of it being the only indication.

It felt like an eternity with no ground, no sky, no sound. The light that had blinded her was gone, replaced by pitch black.

The impact against the ground was sudden, the breath was forced from her lungs and she struggled to draw in a breath to replace what was lost. As she continued her attempts, she dared to open her eyes that she didn't know she had shut. She expected to see the faces of those in her inner circle,  and likely a healer. Yet, she saw no faces, only the sky.

A sky that bore no scars of the breach that had once tormented it. She turned her head to the side, and saw no ruins of the Temple of Scared ashes. Again, her gaze tilted skywards as words echoed through her mind.

_Imagine, instead, spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds._

She wondered why Solas' retelling of ancient Elvhenan filled her thoughts,  but it was an echo of thy sky that was laid out above her. The trees she had seen and now rested at the edges of her vision were how he had painted the image in her mind. It was possibly the influence of the object that had knocked her own, the dream heavily shaped by that thought. 

_‘Logical, however, incorrect. We have been… Displaced.’_

The voices of the Well spoke clearly, no longer the distant whispers she had grown used to. They sounded different, as if more voices had joined in the echoes. 

 _Displaced how?_ She wondered, and silence was her only answer.

Ellana’s brows drew into a frown as she sighed and pushed herself up onto her elbows. She hesitated a moment as her muscles screamed in protest, the impact was clearly harder than she had imagined. She pushed through, checked herself for obvious injuries but found none. It was a strange thing to do in a dream, but the Well was not convinced that this was a dream. Regardless, she pushed up from her feet  ignoring her muscles and began to survey her surroundings.

It was a courtyard of sorts, or a garden. It was hard to pinpoint the precise word for it, as it was a mixture of both. The structure reminded her more of Mythal’s Temple but smaller, more modest but still a temple of similar nature.

“To whom, I wonder, is this temple dedicated to?” 

As she continued to observe, she stretched her arms out and over her head. The air tingled against her skin, sparking then dancing along her arms and downwards to her toes. She stared in wonder at the sight. She felt it, then, the magic that surrounded her. It engulfed her entirely, she could swim in it. She drew in a deep breath and her whole body responded, her blood sang; she felt truly alive. It was overwhelming, the feeling, the power that coursed through her, the way her magic responded, and how natural it had felt despite she had never experienced such a sensation. 

She lowered her arms and looked to her left hand, where the anchor rested, and stretched out her hand. The magic came at her call, the anchor sparked to live in a flourish of greens and vibrant yellows. It sang a response to a call she couldn’t hear, but she _felt_ it. Her heart fluttered, oddly but her gaze was caught by the way the magic swirled and danced in a rhythm set by her heart. She closed her hand and drew the power back into herself.

The mark continued to sing, alive but quiet for her. It had changed, somehow.

It was the sound of footsteps that drew her out of her revere of the anchor. She turned, quickly, and spotted a group of figures approaching from the temple. They were tall, like the Sentinels of Mythal’s Temple. A group of five, they moved in a formation with one at the head of the charge. Of the five, four of them carried weapons, a bow and a satchel of arrows. 

She reached for her staff, but found nothing. A quick look around her told her that no weapon was in sight, but she was not defenseless without it. She took a defensive stance as they drew closer. 

The four that carried the weapons wore _vallaslin_ upon their faces. This brought her pause, and she faltered as they continued closer. This particular symbol, she wasn’t familiar with. Who, exactly, was their god? It was jagged, rough, almost feral in appearance.

“Ma! Lan’aan san? Garas quenathra?” The one without the vallaslin, the leader, spoke. His tone was not pleasant, his face contorted into something akin to rage. She felt herself fluster under the words as she found herself struggling with how to respond. Elvish was almost lost to the People.

 _‘You. How have you come to this place? Why are you here?’_ The Well supplemented what she struggled with, and seemed to hesitate in waiting for her thoughts on how she wanted to respond. Then, as if they were thoughts of her own, the words came to her, spoken clearly and slowly so that she could mimic.

“I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know where I am.” She spoke and it felt foreign on her tongue, her own voice sounding strange as she spoke the tongue of her people with so little knowledge. She would have to remember -- 

No. The feeling of disappointment overwhelmed her next. A dream, where the words were unlikely close to being what elves had truly spoken. It was a fragment and she had clung to it, even for that brief moment. It left a nasty taste in her mouth.

The four elves that stood fast behind their leader bore no expression, while the leader’s contorted again. Anger’s kin became rage, cheeks flushed a faint shade of red, restrained. It was almost entirely contained, the barest of sparks that she would have missed, had he not stepped closer to her and into her space. He descended upon her in the next moment and she attempted a retreat.

He latched onto her, his fingers dug into the skin of her arm and wretched her closer, twisted her arm and waved it at his followers as if her arm was meant to bend and wiggle in such a manner. She restrained her sounds of protest.

“This,” he hissed, “how did you acquire _this_? Have you stolen from our god?” His fingers dug in deeper, as he pulled her closer twisting her hand to her to see. Her hiss of pain escaped before she could stop it. He looked satisfied for this.

“I haven’t stolen from anyone.” She managed, the words came faster as she adapted to what the Well had supplied. “I don’t even know where I am!”

“I don’t believe you. It is not my place to judge, fortunately for you. I, in my humble opinion, do not believe _He_ would grant such a gift to anyone.” 

She struggled against him, now, the rage that seeped into his eyes spoke many volumes. But he stilled her as if she were made out of nothing. He threw her forward, into the four sentinels that had flanked him before. The two closet caught her, grasped her arms and twisted them behind her. They still wore no expressions, the only hint of curiosity rested in their eyes. She was some puzzle to be solved.

“Take _it_. He will want to see.”

Lavellan didn’t need to see his face to know there was a sneer settled there, his voice gave away plenty. She would have retorted about being called a _thing_ but the two that held her arms twisted them up behind her. A hiss of protest escaped before she could restrain it. 

They shoved her forward, down the path that led back to the Temple but also held her fast. She stumbled in an attempt to meet their pace, her foot catching on something unseen. This cry, she kept restrained and turned to address them. The sentinels did not stop, did not allow her to right herself as they lifted her easily off the ground to where her toes barely touched the ground. She had never felt more inept in her life. Her cheeks colored red but, she bore the shame and kept her protests to herself.

They took her deeper into the temple grounds. The further they ventured, the more of the crystal twined trees they passed. Color variation amongst them became more prominent, vibrant, like being inside of a rainbow. The trees were one thing, but what had drawn her curiosity were the statues of wolves that served as the guardians of the sacred ground. As they continued onwards, they grew more numerous and far more colorful. They had gone from statues of stone to those made of crystal.

The sentinels did not slow their pace to allow for observation, so she twisted in their arms in an attempt to see better.

Not the wisest of her decisions.

Fingers dug into the flesh of her arms, the tips of them surged with magic that twisted her blood, the pain serving as a warning. She hissed, and stilled, twisting again to face forward. She allowed them to carry her still, focusing her observations on what they had yet to pass.

What came into her sight first as they approached the temple’s entrance was the fact that they were heralded by two large wolves at the base of the grand staircase. Along the sides, more wolves lined the stairs with eyes made of bright sapphires that seemed as if they were watching any and all who dared to enter. It brought a shiver down her spine, those cold, blue eyes.

They brought her forward and up the stairs with no particular flourish. Not that they should, either. The crossing of the threshold was just as bland, unexciting, no ceremony or ritual was needed to enter, unlike Mythal’s Temple.

Though, much like Mythal’s Temple, the inside foyer was large and spacious, leading off to many different rooms. They had hardly scratched the surface in their chase of Corypheus’ forces. She longed to explore this creation of her mind. She wondered how in depth she could truly paint a world she knew so little of. She wondered if the workings of her mind could conjure something so elaborate as this temple if she could accurately replicate the look of Mythal’s.

They stopped abruptly, but they did not let her feet touch the ground. The sentinels that did not hold her captive broke away suddenly, both going to opposite doors of the temple and disappearing from view.

Their departure had opened her up to see more details of the temple. The walls were lined with various mosaics, crafted from gold and various metal tiles; they told stories she was unfamiliar with, and couldn’t grasp from the imagery alone. She saw magic twisting in the air, providing a soft light. A single fleck of this magic along was dim, but as they danced together, they shone brightly enough to color the halls. They were brilliant shades of color, shifting and dancing to some rhythm she was not privy to.

She longed to see more.

Further exploration of her surroundings were cut short by the voices that reminded her of her current situation. They were distant, faint to where she could not hear what they were saying but knew that they were speaking. She was far too distracted, and that was her own fault. But, she didn’t worry over them striking her dead. For now, at least. 

They did not drag her further into the Temple as she had expected, when they began to move again. They turned and moved to a door that she would not have seen, if they were not approaching it. It was small, modest, meant to fade into the background and remain unseen by those who did not wish to see it. A servant’s door, or a slave’s, most likely. 

The halls were now dimly lit by the use of candles that burned but used no wax. The walls were not decorated, held no importance and were uninteresting overall. Yet, she took in the details, the way they branched off and trailed elsewhere. They stayed on a straight path, though, twisting when the hall itself twisted. 

Another small door greeted them and they stepped through into a small, dank room. The air was muggy, but not entirely overbearing. A small pool rested at the center, towels of plain white lined the walls. She could safely assume this was where the servants went to bathe. It was more than what she would expect to be given to any servant or slave, but it was still modest.

Her feet touched the ground, the feeling of the stone beneath her barely registered before deft hands nudged her forward. With no balance, no chance to ground herself, she fell forward and into the water. She sank rather ungracefully. The water was lukewarm, leaning towards the side of cold. She shivered, pushed up from the bottom of the pool and emerged, sputtering for air.

Laughter greeted her as she pushed her hair from her face.

 _”What was that for?!”_ She yelled and the silence was instantaneous. 

The two elves stared at her as if she had grown a second heat. It was as if they dare not look away, the Well took the opportunity to supply her with the elvish she had meant to say.

“What was that for?” She repeated, a little more calmly, anger restrained in that instant.

They looked between themselves, skeptical but the woman recovered first.

“So, you _can_ speak.” Her smile wry on her lips, though her eyes held a wary caution. “We thought you’d gone lame. You didn’t protest much. Most usually kick. And scream." 

Was she disappointed? Ellana couldn’t tell. 

“ _He_ doesn’t take well to scents that offend him, even if it’s doubtful that he’ll judge you as innocent.” The man spoke next. She wondered if any of them thought this _He_ would spare her. “Bathe. You will be provided with more… Suitable attire.” He was wary, too. More so than the woman who stood beside him. His eyes also looked upon her with disdain. 

The woman gestured for her to get on with her business, leaving no room for further conversation. With a sigh, she relented and turned away from them. She stripped out of her wet clothing, wringing out what water she could and using her magic to dry the rest. They were neatly settled upon the edge of the pool and folded neatly. That, apparently, was enough to satisfy them that she would not fight them.

They turned from her, slightly, and leaned close to one another from what she could see when she peeked over her shoulder.

“She’s different. Tiny, and her ears… Are they shaped funny?” The woman whispered to the man. She felt her cheeks flush. 

They were going to whisper about her as if she couldn’t hear them.

She turned away again and busied herself with attempting to clean her hair.

“What she said when she came out of the water. Do you think it was a curse? A spell? Something isn’t right with her. That magic on her hand… Her magic. Nothing’s right about her.” The man returned just as softly.

Her ears burned under their whispers. She sank below the water, unwilling to hear the rest. Some dream this was, to where she was insulted by figments of her imagination. Once, she had been upset by the shape of her ears, and the shape of her body. Once.

She shivered under the cold and pushed her magic forward to bring the water to a more bearable temperature as she began to scrub herself clean. 

  _'Y_ _ou say this is a dream because you are in denial of your reality. You have been displaced. In time. This is real. Be cautious. Should you die, there is no alternative. Be mindful of your actions. Even a minor offense could…’_

The warning remained unspoken, but it lingered in the air, almost tangible.

She emerged from the water, ran her fingers through her hair. Dirt and grime came lose, mixed with blood and tainting the water. She thought on the Well’s insistence that this was a dream. Her dreams would not contain the remnants of her battle with Corypheus, there was no reason for them to. The Well had no reason to lie and it would explain the dirt, blood, and the aching muscles.

How the questions were: ‘how did I get here’ and ‘how do I go back’.

The Well supplied no answer for either, but she suspected it was just as clueless as she.

The two sentinels from earlier returned to their group as she continued to wash away the signs of battle. She peeked, briefly, over her shoulder again. The second man carried runed shackles, the woman held a plain white cloth. They piqued her curiosity further, but she did not speak.

The man caught her gaze and she tensed under the scrutiny of his gaze. His eyes narrowed into a glare and she wondered if there wasn’t one of them who didn’t hate her already. He strode forward to the pool with quick, precise steps and she was given no time to recoil or make space between them.

He grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her from the water.

If modesty was important in this time, he gave her no change to preserve it. Her gaze met his defiantly, her jaw squared and her chin lifted to meet his gaze more boldly. The other sentinels now remained utterly silent in the wake of his anger and the two chatty ones had schooled their faces into a mask of neutrality. 

He released her, allowed her to stand on her own two feet for once. Only, he snatched the white cloth from his counterpart and threw it at her. Again, he gave her no warning and she fumbled to catch it. It fell open in her hands, revealing a simple dress.

Though, to call it a dress was generous. It was a glorified bag with holes for the limbs to poke through and allow movement. It wasn’t meant to be flattering. It was meant to cover -- it was meant to be temporary. Such an outfit did not bode well for her fate. She hastily pulled the fabric over her head.

“ _He_ expects you.” Sneered the sentinel that seemed to hold the most disdain for her, from his behavior alone. The others said nothing, stoic figures, unmoving as if they had been made of stone. He stepped forward, again, with the same speed and determination as before. He grabbed her arm, yet again, his fingers bruised the skin and twisted her to angle her arm in another direction. A shackle clamped around her wrist, then the second followed as he repeated the action. She had bit back her hisses of protest.

She doubted he would have held any sorrow for ending her life if she complained. He did not seem as lenient as the others. She assumed the only thing that kept him from doing so was this _He_ they all referenced.

She did not fight the chains, even as he tested them by pulling her forward with a sudden yank. She couldn’t bite back her hiss but she bit her tongue to fight any further protesting against him. 

He grinned, wicked and cruel, the first among them all. A broken mask, truly broken unlike the mask the two chatty sentinels had dropped. He seemed satisfied, at least, as he activated the runes. They glowed and hummed, she felt the magic in her halt and freeze inside her. All of her was frozen, aside from the anchor. That, oddly, was resistant to the call of the runes. Because this mark was supposedly stolen from their god?

She didn’t dare test them, though. The way they felt promised pain for even the slightest attempt to pull forth her magic. 

It was curious, though, to shackle her with runes.

_Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing._

The memory came back to her quickly and realization struck: They were _all_ mages. It was only natural to assume that she was a mage, for them, someone who was born without magic would be an oddity. The thought was thrilling. Exciting. And frightening. 

Her feet came out from under her, the sudden movement of the sentinel who held her shackles startled her from her thoughts. Her knees hit the ground with a thud, skinned and bleeding. Her cheeks colored red with her embarrassment, her shame, humiliation. He waited only a moment for her to right herself before he continued forward once again. The three others followed in a continued silence, saying nothing on her treatment at the hands of the man.

She assumed Grumpy was the leader for their silence alone. Abelas seemed to command a similar silence for those under his charge in the Temple of Mythal. She had not heard a single word uttered when they were in his presence. 

They returned down the hallway they had traveled to arrive in the bathing chamber. The approached the stairs of the inner chamber of the temple and she focused all her attention on keeping pace with Grumpy. It was unlikely he would show her another kindness if she stumbled on the stairs. He would likely be done with her and drag her the rest of the way.

With her focus on her feet, climbing the stairs passed far more quickly. She had no idea how far she had yet to go, or how far she had gone. That much was a relief. Blood trailed down her knees, the feeling grounded her, kept her focused elsewhere. As they approached the door, she felt her stomach clench and protest.

As they came to a stop before a door, however, her gaze lifted and she craned her neck to peer at the door. It was large, touched obvious magic. It told her it would only open for a certain few. Aside from that, the patterns on the door depicted wolves in a pack, on a hunt. One served as leader, one that was larger than the rest. Their eyes were all colored with gems that seemed to move, and looked alive.

The magic of the door suddenly surged forward, searching. They opened, the key that was needed apparently among them. She was entranced, examining the spell and the doors as she was pulled forward.

The door paled in comparison to the chamber itself, magic sang loudly in this room, unabashed, bold, wild. But none of the lights that had lit the outside provided light, instead, it was lit by a more natural means; two hearths roared with fire on either side of the room, burning a deep and lively shade of red. The lights of the fires illuminated the walls, showing hand painted murals that seemed to glow in the light, likely a trick of magic. 

The murals held the pelts of animals in the place of painted ones, replacing imagery with reality. The eyes of these creatures glowed with a life that was frozen in time from the moment of their death.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She allowed her gaze to find the center of the room to where a throne sat. She avoided the figure that sat there as much as she could, unwilling to see the face of this god. The throne, however, was draped in pelts much like the ones that lined the walls in the murals but these? These pelts were wolves. She would have taken in more detail, if the figure of the god did not begin to peek into her vision. 

Her eyes dropped, skipping past the god and focusing on the ground.

Perhaps it was fitting that she was to be judged like those whom she had cast judgment upon in Skyhold.

The shackled were yanked and she fell to her injured knees. Her blood did not soften the blow. She cried out in pain, her head bowed low from the force of it and rather than look up, she attempted to look the part of apologetic sinner.

_Let this be a merciful God._

“Fen’harel --“ Ellana’s head jerked up to stare at Grumpy, breaking her illusion as quickly as she had tried to form it.

Her blood ran cold as all the blood drained from her face and terror gripped her heart. She felt herself sway, the pain in her knees suddenly unbearable, she was dizzy. She was hot and cold all at once. _May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent, da’len.’_ Keeper Deshanna’s final words rang in her ears as if mocking her, mocking her folly. They faded and only the ringing was left. She felt herself struggle to draw air, but resisted the urge to break into full panic.

Grumpy’s lips moved, explaining something but she could not hear.

_Fen’harel._

The worst possible outcome for her as there would be no mercy. The Dread Wolf hates the People. He had slaves because he hated them, mocked them. He would have no mercy for her: she who had apparently stolen from her. Her left hand clenched tight.

She felt a wave of illness rush over her. She bit back the urge to vomit.

If she had stolen this magic from him -- if his slaves could sense his magic… It was safe to assume that the orb was the Dread Wolf’s. Solas had said the Gods had them to channel their powers, a foci. Had the Dread Wolf hated the People so much that he provided the orb to Corypheus? Or, what if it had been chance? Surely, he would not like humans more than the People? What if --

A harsh yank on the chains drew her arms upwards and her frantic thoughts vanished. She stared at Grumpy but his eyes were not on her. He forced his magic forward and the anchor came to life against her will, pulled in response to a call, like before. 

“This is the proof, master.” Grumpy’s tone leaded but held more of a demand than what she would expect from a slave of Fen’harel. If Solas was correct. “It is your power. You’ve the right to judge her, there is no need to involve Mythal!”

She wondered if it was normal for them to speak so freely? Maybe Solas’ understanding of the slavery had been different? Or, she was desperate to have his understanding of the Fade be wrong in this one instance so that the Dalish may wear their vallaslin in pride, despite what they had thought them to mean.

“Elgar’nan bound _all_ to seek Mythal for judgment, if the reason for judgment is valid.” That smooth, silk-like voice filled her ears and her breath caught in her throat. It was so _familiar._ Hauntingly so. “Fortunately, Mythal’s judgment will not be necessary. There had been no theft.”

“But --“

She dared to look away from Grumpy as he looked crestfallen. She trailed her gaze along the ground, her eyes fixating first on Fen’harel’s foot that rested on the ground.

“Have you not considered that this creature could be mine?” The smooth voice shifted, restrained but anger lingered. “Or, am I incapable because I have held no previous desire of creation?”

Ellana lifted her gaze past the foot, taking in the lounging form, relaxed and looking much like a wolf in his den. She looked higher, her gaze trailing over his torso, past the sculpted jaw, each part of him making her grow colder and colder. She looked past his sculpted jaw and took in the lines of his face.

Her heart shattered and she couldn’t _breathe_.

Upon the throne of the Dread Wolf, Pride looked down upon her.


	2. Fen'harel

The one called Dread Wolf, the one who bore the face of her heart, yet who was entirely different shifted from lounged to seated, leaning forward as he inspected her. She took in the sight of him, in the new angle of lighting. He wore a skull of a wolf upon his brow, held there like a crown by leather bands that matched the color of his hair. These bands served not only holding up the skull, but to hold the locks of his hair back and out of his face. It was unusual seeing his face with hair, but the lower half was clean shaven, like the man she knew.

His eyes met hers and she felt herself grow cold again, her blood ran rampant and her ears grew hot. Betrayal was a heavy taste in her mouth, one that she would not savor. 

Solas was Fen’harel.  

It explained much and left more questions. It was just like him.

He rose from his throne and she lowered her gaze. His robes caught her attention, now. He was better dressed, more frivolous than the Solas who tend to wear an attire that screamed “hobo” according to Dorian. No, these robes were tailored, designed for him, framing every line of his figure perfectly. Gold thread held them together, peeking from the seams in a way that was just as frivolous as the man that stood before her. It was his mantle that held most of her attention, however.

A black wolf framed his shoulders, the head of the beast serving as a spaulder on his right shoulder. Six eyes in gems the color of red were sparked to life by the light of the fire.

Ellana knew, without a doubt, that they were the same person. There were differences, but she did not come to know him so well to not know him when she saw him. Fen’harel was the youth he spoke of, cocky, impulsive, one who thought he knew everything. 

He stepped forward in that familiar stride, the certain way of his hips, of his steps that was unique to him. They held confidence, the same as Solas who always held a certain air, even if he aimed for more modesty than this man before her. He stopped before her and her muscles went rigged against her will.

He knelt before her, his hand touched her pale cheek and stroked, gently.

She resisted the urge to pull away, to flinch at the touch.

“Ma da’sa. You look as if the truth has frightened you. Or, do the chains that bind you cause you such distress?”

_“Do not trust the Dread Wolf.”_ Keeper Deshanna’s voice reminded, gently.

_“Steel your heart.”_ Solas’ voice reminded. Mocked. Echoed. Haunted. But, wise words for her situation.

She stared openly at the Dread Wolf, willed her heart to calm, to quiet, to ignore the hurt caused. She squared her jaw, lifted her chin slightly in defiance.

His eyes turned wicked, as if she had played right into his hand. His smile came to reflect that, lips curled upwards just so. The hand that had stroked her cheek shifted and wrapped around her jaw, held her firm and kept her eyes on him. She would not break before him, she would not succumb to theDread Wolf. Again. Her eyes remained defiant, daring him to _try_.

He only grinned wider.

But he turned from her first, instead, turning towards the sentinels.

“Does she carry the look of a thief? Does she not appear to be something more?” His hand remained firm upon her jaw, keeping her silent as he addressed them. Those blue eyes then turned back on her as he faced her. Something different lingered in those blue depths, imploring her? He wanted something.

“Answer me this, da’sa: where did you come from? How did you get here?” He paused for a moment, and his eyes changed again, dark with mischief, a wicked promise hidden beneath them should she answer wrong.

But, what was the right answer? What was the wrong one?

“I… Don’t know. I don’t know how I got here.” Varric would have been disappointed in her. He would have insisted she weave a tale, and she had neglected to do so, even after all the time she spent with him. It was his final question that brought her the most hesitation. If she had truly been in the past, and this was Solas, who had known so little about her… “I don’t have a name.”

The smile he gave her was brilliant. Gorgeous. It was wide, far wider than she had ever seen upon his face of all the times she had seen him smile. And she was _afraid._ He was pleased. She had appeased the Dread Wolf, but at what cost?

The hand tightened on her jaw again and silenced her once more.

Fen’harel again turned to the sentinels, that smile vanished before he turned. She wondered what his game was, this trickster. She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head as she tried to free herself of his hand. He held fast, keeping her trapped.

“As you can see, she knows nothing about how she came to be.” He stated this as if it was obvious, an absolute truth that they were all fools for not knowing. “She is called Fen’allan.” He turned back to her, the grip tightening to where she would bruise if he dug his fingers in tighter.

“Do you approve, ma da’sa?”

_‘Of the Wolf’s Blood… An interesting title.’_ The Well’s voices sounded curious and far too amused.

His eyes dared her to say no, to go against his will. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yes,” She breathed out, words muffled by the grip of his hand.

He released her in that moment and rose,leaving her to stare at his backside.

“Fetch her something proper to wear, would you? And, a healer. She bleeds and the scent disturbs me.” He said the words as if he _cared_ that she was hurt. She, who was a stranger to him, and now his newest toy, from the sound of things. But, the most peculiar thing was that he did not command them. He asked.

The sentinels bowed low, though Grumpy stumbled, displeased with the results but he did not argue further than he already had. They departed, slipping from the chambers throughdoors that had been hidden from view but still there. 

Her gaze found Fen’harel again.

“Wh--“

He descended upon her with the speed of a wolf, his hand curled around her throat. He shoved her down to the ground from the force of the impact, her body twisted beneath him, unnatural. He held her there, his hand tightened in a threat, serving as a warning that she dare not fight against. His eyes were wild, burned with a rage that she had only seen once before. Once that had ended in death for those who offended him. They were irrational. Wild. Deadly. And he would kill her if she was not careful.

_May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent._

He had caught her’s long ago.

“Tell me, _Fen’allan_ , did the one whom is called mother send you to check on me? Does she worry over me angering those who call me brother? Or, does she find me incapable?” He growled down at her and she stared up into his eyes, her own wide and frightened. He continued without her answer. “I know you are Mythal’s creature.”

She tensed and he leaned in. The grip on her throat slackened before she was released entirely. His fingers trailed up along her neck, traced her jaw before they began tracing in a pattern along her face.

“What puzzles me is how she placed my magic upon you or why she would.” His fingers stilled as he looked down upon her. She remained still beneath him, though her body screamed in protest to the weight of him, and the angles of her twisted limbs. 

He leaned in closer, his nose pressed against her neck and he breathed in deep. She tensed further, her head tilted back.

His lips pressed against the junction where her neck met her torso, against the place where her pulse was strongest. His lips could feel the pulse of her heart, the way the blood rushed in fear of him. 

“You carry _my scent_.”

Her flushed red and she tilted further back, in an attempt to distance him from her. To get away. But he was a predator and she his prey. Her pulse ran wild and her breath followed, short, ragged breaths as fear intensified. She bade herself to calm, bade herself to respond.

“O-Of course.” She managed, her voice as plain as she could manage, as if he were the stupid one, this time. “You said that I was your creation.” 

He laughed against her skin, his breath teased the sensitive flesh. She drew in her bottom lip, resisted the urge to shudder against him. His fingers trailed downwards, along her jaw once more, and down her neck. He touched her as if she were fragile, as if she would shatter suddenly. He found her chest, fingers teasing.

His teeth teased her neck, taking the skin and biting in, gently. She shuddered. She hated herself.

“N-No.” She managed.

His laughter followed and the sound echoed in her head, loud despite how soft it was.

She tried to move her chained hands but found herself caught, his fingers twined with hers and held her left hand tightly. She was confused by the intimacy of the act, skeptical and wary as his teeth released her. 

His eyes met hers with such intensity, the emotions behind them just as confusing. She opened her mouth to ask his game, to ask his intentions but pain flooded her so suddenly. A scream was torn from her throat before she could stop it. She felt as if she was being torn open all over again, as she had when the anchor was new upon her hand. She screamed, and screamed as the pain intensified.

The rest of her was numb, her mind was numb and she thrashed against Fen’harel in attempt to free herself of him. Of this torture. Of his cruelty. He intended to kill her. He held firm against her, not allowing her to escape.

He was trying to take the anchor from her.

Abruptly, the pain stopped. She could not help the sob that escaped, the tears that followed. His hand released hers, gently. Both came to frame her face, but it was his lips that brushed away the tears.

“It is indeed my magic, but it is different. Twisted, aged… And then you’ve made it your own.” 

He released her, pulled the chains away as he pulled away. She stared up at him, and he upon her. His gaze held something familiar, but they were no longer touched by that wickedness that was so prominent before. He bowed his head and turned from her.

“We will be departing from the temple once you’ve been tended to.”

He left her and her eyes followed him as they had always followed Solas.

The Dread Wolf did not apologize, but those blue eyes held regret.

Ellana felt the world slip away, darkness engulfing her yet again.

She awoke in a strange bed of soft furs, wrapped in them and cradled gently. Her eyes settled on the hearth that lit the room, the fire a pale blue. Questions of how she arrived lingered on the tip of her tongue but the memories came before she could truly question.

Her heart ached all over again.

She buried her face into the furs that surrounded her and wept. She wept to rid herself of the pain, to rid herself of her desire to hate, to feel betrayed. He had _lied_ to her about everything. Though there were grains of truth. Things he had experienced in the Fade about Elvhenan were lies. He had lived them rather than dreamt. 

She would be wary of the Dread Wolf, as she had always been taught. She would cut her heart away, bury it where it could never be found.

_‘You should, however, attempt to win his good graces. It is imperative that you find a way home. To linger in this time could be dangerous to your future.’_

The Well spoke yet again, but the words were not helpful. They were obvious. She didn’t ask how, it was just as lost as she was in this matter. The fur she buried her face in, however, was held more tightly as she rolled onto her back. She breathed in deep and was thankful it did not carry the scent of him. She would, indeed, steel her heart and face what was to come.

The door opened without warning and she sat up quickly, on guard in a moment. A small girl, wisp-like in nature stood there and looked at her with alarm. She reminded her of the woman who greeted her upon her waking in Haven. But, the girl smiled after a moment and bowed low in greeting. She looked to be no more than a child. Her face marked with vallaslin so young made her realize further differences from what the Dalish believed and what lay before her.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust before she could hide it.

“Master wishes for your presence, Fen’allan.” She spoke quickly, as if the disturbance was the cause for the disgust she had shown. The girl, however, did smooth over it with grace and did not address it so openly.

The door was shut and the girl gave her a bright smile. 

“He has asked that I assist you in dressing. He… Believes that you might struggle.” A polite way of saying the man thought her incapable. 

As the girl stepped closer, the vallaslin stood out more. The girl wore not Fen’harel’s marks, but those of June. It was curious that she would be wearing such markings when she was here. And called the wolf her master.

“What is your name?” Ellana ventured to ask as the girl stopped at the wardrobe beside the bed. 

As the doors opened, the girl paused. “I am called Sul’assan. But, you may call me whatever suits you.”

_‘'Singer of the Arrow’’. An arrow crafter, one whom was particularly adept. To sing can mean that the skill came naturally.’_

“I was of June’s service.” Sul’assan went on to further explain as she approached the bed, fabric gently cradled in her hands as if she held something sacred. “I was given to master by my lord June.”  She bowed low once again, the outfit held above her head in offering.

Ellana took that as a sign to leave the bed. She slid from beneath the furs, bare feet slid over the edge and touched the ground. It was warm, despite being stone. Curious. Ingenious, even.

“Why did June give you to Fen’harel if you were so skilled? And… Why did he not give you a new name?”  She asked before she could stop herself, curious over the Dread Wolf, curious over why he was how he is. As if these questions could answer all of the ones Solas had left her with.

Once she stood fully, Sul’assan rose from her bow. The outfit was placed carefully upon the bed and she set quickly to work. The white fabric, stained with her blood that clung to her like shame, a burden she could not shake was cut by the girl with a deft and swift hand. The remnants of the fabric went into the flames without so much as a single thought of hesitation.

“Master bested my lord at a game. The boon he sought was the finest of his arrow crafters. I could not say why he desired one.” The girl spoke as she set to work, lifting Ellana’s arms slightly before the fabric was wrapped carefully about her torso, loose and not fit properly. She could have bound the fabric more tightly, but, Ellana did not question. There was still more to do. 

“As for why I have not been given a new name, I imagine I have not earned such honors, my lady.” Her hands paused in her work, briefly, before she added: “I do not mean to presume the master’s will. I am not so great as to know his will.”

“You are fine, da’len.” She spoke softly and the girl looked up at her, pale cheeks flushed.

She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped and the smile that settled on her lips. But, Sul’assan was a diligent worker and did not let the term of endearment slow her for long. More fabric was gathered from the bed, another part of the wardrobe. This, instead, served as a bottom piece to her wardrobe. The fabrics wrapped around her, each layering over one another until there were no more.

Sul’assan gave her a look over, adjusting as needed before the fabric righted itself. The loose bindings of before tightened to fit her form, the fabrics of her skirt seemed to meld with the top as if they were never meant to be apart. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.

Even the clothing of this time was strange.

Small hands guided her to stand before a tall mirror that lay hidden beside the wardrobe. The fire brew brighter, lighting up the room and she could see every detail of her dress. She admired the outfit, admired _herself_. The curves of the fabric fit her perfectly, as if it had been made just for _her_ , for this moment. Her fingers ran over the fabric that had been wrapped around her torso.

It wasn’t fabric. 

It was armor.  _This_ was how the sentinels donned their skintight armor.

She turned, but her eyes caught the way the material shone in the light of the fire, glimmering, reflecting the shades of blue almost to the point where it glowed. It was unlike anything she had seen before. More of the wonders they had lost in time. She turned back again, and admired this armor. Sul’assan laughed softly, her voice soft in the background.

“We are not finished yet.”

Ellana flushed and laughed softly, “of course.”

She did not twist and turn any further. They layered together, twisted and flowed easily. They were sheer, but with the layers of them, they were not overly so. Her legs could be made out from beneath the fabric if one was looking hard enough.

Then it stood out. The silhouette of a wolf, carefully threaded on separate layers of the skirt, only visible when they were all lined perfectly.

Trickster. Even threads woven in his name hid lies, placed right before the eyes of the observer but only seen in a moment few and far between, for when would she ever stand with the fabric perfectly aligned other than when in observance of her looks?

A chair was summoned, the flow of magic shifting, echoing throughout the room. She shivered for the abundance of it, the amount of magic that was in the air still overwhelming. At least the first spell she had experienced was a mild one, but it served as warning enough as a reminder of what she would need to be on guard for.

“Almost ready. Your hair must be done.” 

“You don’t --“ Gentle hands guided her down into the chair, ending her protest there.

Small fingers then combed through Ellana’s hair, gentle, soothing and a reminder of a time she had almost forgotten. It had been so long since anyone had done her hair. It had been with her clan, the one she considered her sister had done so before she was sent to the conclave. Skilled fingers carefully began their work, and her eyes closed before she could resist the lull of familiarity.

She sighed, content, at peace and forgot where she was. She forgot her pain, the wariness she had felt. She forgot everything that was not nostalgic. Just for a moment.

When she opened her eyes again, her hair was drawn up in almost her usual fashion. Half of her hair was cut low, so nothing could really be done there. The other half, however, was another story. Her bangs remained loose and free, but the rest had been drawn up into intricate braids that were threaded with white ribbon. Only bits of the ribbon peeked out from beneath the hair, giving a softer touch, delicate. She wore all white.

She did not think white to be the Dread Wolf’s color.

“One final piece.” Sul’assan’s voice rang with pride over her work. 

A mantle as white as the rest of her outfit was draped over her shoulders, fur of the whitest wolf. It echoed Fen’harel’s, but there was no head of the beast. It fastened to the front of her armor easily, melding together as the rest had. Trepidation gripped her heart yet again. Her legs would have quivered had she not been seated. She drew a breath and held it in, she bade her heart to calm before she spoke.

“What is this?” Her throat clenched as she spoke, choking on the words that had spilled forth. ‘What does this mean’ was unspoken, hidden beneath the words.

Sul’assan moved around the chair and stood before her, hand outstretched for her’s.  Ellana placed her own in the smaller hand without hesitation.

“Such attire is normally reserved by the Highest among the women. He asked that you wear this.” The girl explained, her smile radiant. Ellana almost felt ashamed that the girl seemed to hold her with such high esteem. 

Or, perhaps she had felt the emotion in her voice indicated she had been moved that the Dread Wolf would dress her so lavishly, to hold her in such high regards.

“Oh! You have met the Highest of the men. I was told it was he who had found you. He wears no vallaslin, but he is the most devoted. Har’enaste.” Rage. The one she had called Rage.

_‘’Purest of the Followers’, reserved for only those of Fen’harel.’_

_Why would ‘har’ be purest?_

_‘It has many meanings. Words change in time, to fit the most common of uses later.’_

Ellana’s fingers curled around Sul’assan’s gently but rather than allowing the girl to guide her from the seat, she rose on her own. Her second hand joined the first, settled delicately upon the small hand to clasp it gently.

“Thank you.” It was all she could manage, she had nothing she could give the girl aside from her gratitude. She had put so much work into her appearance, so much care into her treatment of her. The Dread Wolf may be the enemy of her people, in time, but she would not subject his followers to a harsh treatment.

Sul’assan’s cheeks flooded with color, the paled skin a bright rose. She bowed low again, her hand slipped from hers. 

“If you would follow me, my lady?” She rose, her demeanor no longer bashful. Excitement radiated from her, an eagerness that Ellana could only smile at.

“Of course.” 

She followed, knowing full well that the girl would lead her into the wolf’s den, a dangerous ground to tread. There was no avoiding it, however, if she was to gain his favor so she could return to her time. 

Each step down the hall strengthened her resolve, each step led her closer. The sound of her bare feet upon the ground served as a reminder and she focused on the sound, focused on the path they walked so that she could remember these halls, know the paths should she need to flee despite the fact that she would not get far.

Her gaze lifted from the ground, to the hall around them to take in details of their path. Her breath caught again for the murals that lined each one. More stories were woven with no words, images depicting battles and their victories. Vibrant, wild, refined, each painted differently for each story they told. She tried not to gawk, or slow from Sul’assan’s side. She wanted to ask of each one, wanted to explore the halls and lose herself in his paintings again.

No.

She rid herself of those thoughts, and focused instead on the girl who looked back with bright eyes. Her excitement was still there, vibrant, bright. 

The door came into her vision was not as grand as she expected it to be, the vanity of the wolf likely having some limit. 

“I wish I could see his face when he sees you. You’re the loveliest.” Her small hand lifted, knocked and echoed such a large sound, unexpected from the small girl. She bowed low before she departed, quickly darting down the halls.

She was left to face the Dread Wolf alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellana's dress art:
> 
> Here: http://i60.tinypic.com/dgmh60.jpg and here: http://i61.tinypic.com/254zw9j.jpg
> 
> Translation notes:
> 
> da'sa - little one
> 
> Fen'allan - Taking a look at elvish and the way lethallin/lethallan is, I took it to translate lan being the feminine version of blood, thus: kinswoman. Sort of like Japanese using different pronouns when speaking of themselves for masculine and feminine. 
> 
> Sul'assan - singer of the arrow, literally: sing arrow. I decided to take a looser approach to her name rather than a literal translation. As to why she's "singer" versus "crafter", it's how she makes her arrows: the arrows 'sing' through the air when fired. The most adept can make this without trying too hard, for which she was a natural.
> 
> Har'enaste - Purest of the Followers. His name, of course, is derived from 'harel'. I truly don't believe that 'harel' always meant trickster. But, in time, meanings do shift with words and come to mean something else. Another possibility is that 'harel' actually has multiple meanings but depends on the context. So, with that in mind, he is derived from 'harel'. Enaste, I believe, means follower. I took this from the elves in the Temple of Mythal and the Well of Sorrows. 'Vir Mythal'enaste' - Path of Mythal Follower, if assumptions are correct. Or, enaste could mean welcome. With 'ena' being appear/emerge, it's hard to say exactly. I'll end this here to stop my ramblings of possibilities on elvish..
> 
> I am taking liberties on many things, of course.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading everyone. Comments, feedback, thoughts, and questions are all welcomed. I greatly appreciate each and every comment I receive!


	3. Mythal

The door opened to greet her, the double doors like arms, open in welcome. A welcome to the offering for the wolf that dwelled within, waiting. Ellana lingered at the doorway, looking inside to where a wall greeted her. She would need to turn the corner when she entered, blind to what was to come, only knowing that she would stumble into the wolf’s claws. 

Her heart beat loud in her ears, thrashing harder, beating louder as she stepped past the door and into the small hallway. The doors closed behind her and the lights of magic came to life, lighting her way into the room. She steeled herself again, wary of the wolf, wary of what he intended next. She ventured forward, into the room.

There was no wolf to greet her. 

Instead, a trove of knowledge lay before her. 

Each wall was lined with shelves that reached to the ceiling that towered above her, each shelf filled with books both large and small. Their spines were bound in varieties of color, though each spine was lined with writing of gold, lavish and unnecessary. 

The stepped forward, swayed beneath the weight of all that lay before her. The knowledge that her people had lost, the knowledge that the Dalish now sought to protect though fragmented and scraped together. Here it sat before her, unsullied, whole. She could learn, and she could return with what she had learned.

_And, who would believe your claims? What proof would you have? And, if your truths do not meet their imagined truth? What then? No. It is best to leave those thoughts. Instead, see what you can find that may aid in your return._

_”Liar. Fool. Madman.”_ Solas had once said similar, the words recalled after the Well had spoken.

He had _tried_ and the Dalish, in their stubborn ways, had denied his attempts to share his knowledge, had denied to see what they did not want to. 

She stepped closer to the shelves, her fingers traced over the spines as she moved. The words shifted between elvish and common, the Well allowed her to read it in the tongue she knew, the curve of the letters she understood but could not hold their shape in that form for long. Her head hurt as she strained to focus, her determination to see this through drove her through the pain.

The shelves bore no labels, no indication of what went where. They were alphabetical, but in the tongue of her people. She wandered, lost, until the alphabet made sense. A book stood out to her, a book on the concept of time. She wished that she had taken the time to learn from Dorian, the spell he and Alexius had made.

It was irrelevant at that time. Now, it was not.

She drew the book gingerly from the shelf, cradled it close as she took it from its resting place. She wandered towards a table, careful, cautious. It would feel wrong to treat this book as she had any of the others in her time. For now, it was new, but one day it would be gone. She placed it upon the table, turned open the first page.

Her eyes quivered still, but, she did not let that halt her. Her fingers gingerly teased the corners of the page, feeling the difference between what she once knew and what was once. The page turned, careful and she focused on the words. She wanted to read it all, but, instead searched for what she needed.

A hand caught hers as she reached to turn the page once again.

Fenedhis. 

She had forgotten about the wolf on the prowl, lost in his collection of vast knowledge. Though he was cunning, ever the trickster. He had sought to distract her, to lower her guard. She did not allow him to take advantage of the situation he created. She didn’t allow him to see he had frightened her, instead, she turned to face him as much as she could with her hand caught in his.

“Don’t summon me then hide.”

“Ah, but, I was curious what this little one would do when she was left on her own. What would she seek? What information would she take?” His smile, mischievous as always, settled into place upon his lips. “You have… Surprised me.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

He chuckled at this, a slight intake of breath as he finished. A constant reminder of the man she knew, the man he would yet become, the man who would come to hold her heart. His hand tightened around hers, firm but not painful. Ellana took a step back and Fen’harel followed her forward.

The back of her legs hit the table and her freehand caught it for purchase. 

“You have not disappointed me, da’sa… In fact, my curiosity has grown from watching you. You were not what I expected.”

He would say those words again, one day. He would say them again, many more times after that.

“Why _this_ particular book of all the books and papers in my collection?” He wondered, leaning forward. She held what little ground she had, refusing to lean further back against the table.

He drew away from her, backed away a single step, and then another. His hand held her’s, still. He searched her face, seeking something. His gaze had softened, just a fraction. 

“First, there is something else I want to confirm.” He pulled her back with him, away from the table. He twisted his hand behind him, and pulled her along with him, deeper into the library.

What she had seen before? That was just the surface, barely scratched, of his collection. It was just like him, a surface that all could see, an illusion of who he was when there was more further. How one could tread past the surface was the question, once. 

It was just like him that he was knowledgable in his youth as he was when he wore the mask of Pride. One is not simply born cunning, for cunning requires knowledge. One could not trick others with ignorant ways.

Many more books lined the walls as they ventured further in. It was a maze of books, categorized in some manner. Her gaze wandered along the titles they passed, but she could not focus long enough for her eyes to catch the translations.

At the heart of his library stood an eluvian, the mirror blank and unreflecting. It was different than the one Morrigan had showed her, the magic from it was loud, pronounced and not to be hidden. It was abundant, alive. It was extravagant, far more than the woman’s who had toted hers around. This one stood stationary on a pedestal of white marble with a matching frame. Wolves were carved into the soft stone, denoting who was the master of this work.

He lead her up the steps, stopping just before the eluvian. His free hand lifted, brushing over the surface of the glass like a gentle caress. It came to life, the surface rippling in response. He turned to her, her hand released in that moment. His eyes held an intensity, unspoken but there.

“Follow me closely. Do not stray. Keep as quiet as you can. Hold your head above all others.” He didn’t say why, didn’t explain further. Instead, he gestured for her to step forward and into the mirror.

She hesitated. She had nowhere else to go, and she had the task of gaining his favor. She stepped forward, wary. She peeked over her shoulder at him, and his smile was oddly encouraging. Part of her was curious to see the crossroads that Morrigan had showed her, to see it full of life, to see the doors open and able to be explored. Open for her to see, to experience even if she could tell no one of her experience and have them believe her.

She still wanted to experience it. To see it.

His hand touched the small of her back and guided her forward, through the rippling surface.

It was no crossroads.

Instead, she stood within another library. The shape was different, the shelves not as high, the books almost the same but there were different ones tucked within the selves. The spaces for them were more open, it was far more frivolous and less practical. Books were opened to illustrations on some shelves, acting more like displays. 

Fen’harel stepped out behind her, his hand touched her shoulder, in passing as his fingers skimmed along the skin of her arm. It was far from an intimate gesture but she shivered nonetheless, her breath caught in her throat. His fingers curled around her wrist and the moment was gone. 

He pulled her forward and she followed, easily following into his pace. He lead her swiftly through the shelves that twisted together like a labyrinth meant to daze and confuse those who would seek knowledge from these shelves. Yet, Fen’harel was not so easily tricked.

“Wait--“

He slowed to a stop and turned to face her.

“Don’t the mirrors usually go to the crossroads?”

His smile was again predatory, wicked and delighted. “For one just borne,” he teased as his thumb traced a pattern upon her inner wrist, “you seem to know a great deal.”

Ellana bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding, cheeks flushed a faint shade of red. He did have her there, and he knew it. The grin he gave her was cocky, assured of her silence. He pulled her forward again, allowed her to fall into his pace once more. They passed more twists and turns before the large doors came into view.

But, instead of using the door, he drifted to the near invisible door just off to the side. They slipped through the servant’s door, and into a hall that was filled with servant’s marked to Mythal’s service. If they had seen the pair, they did not respond, moving easily past them as they ventured forward.

“They said he took the form of the gods!” 

One had whispered, her voice so rife with excitement that she could be heard clearly, despite her attempts at discretion.

“He’ll be brought before Mythal soon.”

“ _I_ heard he’s of Dirthamen’s, but not his chosen.”

“Mythal will judge him.”

Their voices followed the pair through the halls, and more whispers of what was to come followed them. None stopped as they passed, none paid them any heed, as if they were used to the fact that Fen’harel would be moving through the servant’s halls.

As they approached another door, his hand released her wrist. She kept pace with him, up until he came to a stop. He did not open the door immediately, instead, he turned to her once more. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head and silenced her with that alone. He gestured for her to step closer, to the door before he pushed it open.

The hall was filled with people, so full that she could not see across them to the other side of the room. Their voices, though they spoke in whispers, were so loud that they echoed around them. They, too, had likely gathered for the rumors. 

“Remain behind me.” He left no room for question and stepped from the hall into the bustling chambers, into the noise, into the crowds. 

Ellana followed on his heel, though her gaze did not follow him as she walked. She took in the sight of the elves gathered in one place. The Arlathvhen did not gather such numbers among the Dalish as scattered as they were. Yet, the ancient elves gathered so quickly and with such number over a rumor.

Fen’harel lead her along the perimeter of the room, avoiding a majority of the crowd in order to cross. As they did so, the part of the room that had been previously blocked came into view. While the other half of the room was empty, where all the elves had gathered, the side she could now see held thrones. They were small, not as grand as the one Fen’harel had in his temple but they still denoted power.

Each throne was unique, carved in a certain manner that conveyed who was to sit there. Of those thrones, two were occupied already. 

She could feel their power from where she stood, they reached out without imposing, their aura not at all restrained. They boasted the power they held. She shuddered once and fell in closer behind Fen’harel.Yet, they grew closer to the thrones and there would be no avoiding those who sat there. As they reached his throne, the two tilted looks in the Dread Wolf’s direction. They spoke no words of greeting and instead, looked forward to the people gathered.

Ellana stepped quietly behind Fen’harel’s throne, remaining behind him but she still leaned forward to observe. 

Was this what he had brought her to see?

Mythal entered, the chattering amongst those gathered to see her judgment grew in volume. Ellana’s gaze was drawn to the goddess who stood above all who had filled the halls. She stood with grace, calm, and poise. The chattering was not brought to silence as if it did not bother her at all. She was ethereal. Beautiful but words did her no justice. Her eyes were a muted shade of sapphire that still shone in the light, her white hair a halo that crowned her. She almost seemed to glow, radiant, untouchable. 

“Goddess Mythal!” A woman yelled suddenly, her voice brought a hush to the room. Ellana’s gaze was torn to the woman, her fingers curled about the edges of the throne she stood behind.

The woman fell to her knee before the goddess, before the crowd.

“We come to you to seek judgment. We believe or claim to be true and just. A man has taken the form reserved for the gods and their chosen, daring to believe himself worthy. This man is the follower of Dirthamen, the Keeper of Secrets.”

She rose to her feet and turned, her hand outspread towards the ground and a man was brought forward, chained and broken. He looked repentant, sorrowful, apologetic. He fell to his knees before the goddess, his head bowed. She, in turn, looked down upon him in question. 

“The sinner claims that Dirthamen had bid him to take the form, but the Keeper of Secrets says he holds no knowledge of this bidding and that it was not his will for him to do so. We beg for your judgment.” The woman then bowed low and backed away from the man, her part played.

Mythal’s judgment was said to be swift and without mercy. Ellana did not turn away from the scene.

The goddess looked down upon the sinner. She showed no emotion as she viewed him, she showed him no favor, no sympathy as she considered. 

“What have you to say of these claims?” She spoke, melodic voice filling the hall.

He said nothing, instead, he pressed himself further to the ground, his nose kissed the ground his lips dare not to touch, but he said nothing in his defense. The goddess’ head shook and she lifted her gaze from the sinner.

“Let my Elgar’nan cast judgment upon this sinner.” Her words were final, a dismissal of the case, of the man, and of those who had gathered to see judgment.

The wail of the man cut through the silence as his captors reached for him again. Whispers began anew, and his wails grew louder. He begged her for her judgment, begged her for mercy, begged her for things that became incoherent the more he wailed. Silence only returned once he was dragged entirely from the hall and the grand doors shut behind him.

“I expected mother to cast judgement,” came the voice of a woman, one of the two figures who had been seated long before they arrived. “I had expected her to strike him down where he had cowered. I’m sure that father will… Don’t you agree, _brother?_ ” 

Ellana looked to the woman who rose from her throne. She was beautiful as well, her skin a light tan from days upon days spent out in the sun, in the wild. Her hair was an earthy brown, pulled into tight braids that rested in a crown around her head. Her eyes were colored a shade of green that held no name, but reminded her of the pines of a forest, reflecting the blue light of the veilfire. 

The woman looked upon Fen’harel, but he did not look upon her in response.

“Mother only strikes down those who are guilty of their crimes. She does not hunt mortal men for fun, as you tend to, Andruil.” His voice held no emotion, disinterested in the topic or in the one he called Andruil. “But, you are correct. Elgar’nan will see to his end.”

Andruil’s annoyance was worn subtly, the corners of her eyes wrinkled slightly as she looked upon the god who spurned her.

“Or,” came another voice, the second of the figures now speaking. He, too, rose from his throne and joined Andruil at the side of Fen’harel’s. “Maybe the man believes that he was told by Dirthamen and mother can’t cast an accurate judgment. Or, she simply knows more than us on this situation.”

The man stood tall, taller than Fen’harel with shoulders just as broad, muscles obvious in the clothes he wore. He was thicker than most elven men, in terms of muscles, and she had once thought Solas to be rather different in build than the Dalish men. His skin was dark, with hair a darker black, twisted with beads of metal and ironbark. Each bead carefully forged and carved. His eyes were the color of molten gold.

“That doesn’t matter, he has sinned.” Andruil spoke again, “I’m going to see father. Will you be joining me, June? Fen’harel?” The goddess’ green eyes, briefly, flickered to Ellana where she stood. It was fleeting, so brief that she had thought she imagined it.

“I’ll be along in a moment, Andruil.” June promised. That seemed to be enough to satisfy her despite the silence from Fen’harel. She turned from them and strode from the hall. Any of the observers who had still lingered followed in her wake.

“You’ll drive her mad, Fen’harel.” June scolded, though the deep bass of his voice held a touch of teasing. “She’ll take up an army against you soon.”

“As she has done in the past… Along with other childish games to try to trap me in her bed.”

The other man laughed loudly, a deep, rumbling laugh that shook her but did not cause a reaction like Solas’ would have. As Fen’harel’s did. 

“Of course. You always spurn her, and you know how she is about not getting what she wants.” The man shook his head and placed an arm upon the other god’s shoulder. His tone was light, but those golden eyes sparked with something dark, but it was not hatred nor jealousy. “That aside, we should have another game. Soon.”

He turned from Fen’harel as the hall was silent, aside from their voices. He looked to where Mythal stood, patient and nodded once.

“It looks like mother wishes to see you. We’ll discuss terms later.”

“I--“

“No tricks, Fen’harel. You always disagree then strike later.”

Laughter came from the Dread Wolf. “And yet, you still lose, despite knowing this. Very well, but, we need no terms, only the conditions should you lose.”

“And your own, I may yet win.” June’s words echoed with intent, a promise that hid a threat. Yet, Fen’harel remained unfazed by such words. 

It was hard for Ellana to tell if the two were truly playing a game, or if there was something deeper between them. A rivalry? A hatred? The God of the Craft turned his gaze to her, inclined his head with a smile before he departed. He was the first of them to truly acknowledge her presence there. Only then did Fen’harel rise from his throne, the beginnings of a sneer, his nostrils scrunched slightly.

As if he had taken a sip of tea.

He gestured her forward, his expression schooling itself into something neutral. She took a step forward, away from the thrones and to where Mythal stood in waiting. The goddess watched them with an obvious curiosity. She was patient, waiting, and watching as they had taken their time in responding to her silent summons, beckoning them closer with only a gesture of her hand.

Fen’harel overtook her progress, setting the pace for Ellana to follow once again, her steps easily matching his. 

They stood before the goddess who towered above them, held higher by a rise of stairs that served as a sort of podium. She resisted the urge to fall onto bended knee, following only Fen’harel’s lead. Her tongue had gone dry in her mouth, her throat ceased to function properly, while words refused to form. So, she uttered no greetings, said nothing and fell into the role of spectator in this situation she, truthfully, did not know how to respond to.

She had thought the humans to be confusing, especially in the Orlesian court. The desire to play games, to wear masks to hide their faces as part of life. Yet this situation reminded her much of that. Fen’harel’s reactions to June and Andruil, the way those present in the hall had came to witness the judgment of the sinner.

It was all similar.

“Curious…” Mythal spoke, breaking the silence, “you bring a girl before me who bares the scar of your magic. A creature of mine, yet, I have no recollection of binding this girl.”

Fen’harel tensed beside her, his jaw worked as if he wanted to yell, but knew better than to do so. Her laughter followed, and his jaw stopped. He did not calm, but he did not lash out. Ellana saw it upon the tip of his tongue, the impulse to act. Hot-blooded, he had said of himself.

“You don’t believe me, little wolf.” There was no question in her voice, gaze intent upon the man who stood before her. “You would think I would do such a thing?”

He hesitated, but did not speak. He was like a child chastised. With that, Mythal focused her gaze upon Ellana instead.

“Tell me, girl,” her voice held no malice, only the curiosity to know, “how did you come to be?”

Fen’harel’s gaze lifted to her, and both set of eyes watched her, both desiring an answer. Mythal would hear the lies if she spoke.

 _‘You cannot tell. You cannot speak what should not be spoken. What will come should not be spoken, you should know this above all others.’_  

She spoke the last words of the Well’s warning, the words slipped from her lips by no will of her own. And yet, that seemed to be the answer. Mythal’s brows lifted, curious but sated. She smiled in such a manner that said she was pleased.

“Very well.” The smile became gentle, her hand lifted towards Ellana though her gaze came to rest upon Fen’harel. “I will release her to you. You will be free to bind her, if you so desire.”

There was a pull of magic from the goddess, that teased along the skin of her face. It was a gentle caress, soothing lines along her face that she had not noticed burning until the magic came in contact with her. Her eyes closed and she drew a breath. She swayed beneath the sensation, painful yet comforting. The magic pulled back after a moment and she felt lighter, unbound from chains she had never noticed; she was weightless now that they were gone.

The sapphire eyes of the goddess held her own.

“I will allow you to keep my gift." 

She owed Mythal. And she would collect, one day, so said the well of the promise that was unspoken between them.

Mythal inclined her head, a slight nod to dismiss them both from her presence before she, too, departed the great hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite enjoyed writing this chapter. We get to see the relationship dynamics between a handful of the pantheon. Furthermore, we get some buildup of a codex entry, but not too much. There is also additional foreshadowing that I'm sure is incredibly obscure at the moment.
> 
> With that said, I'm very excited for the next chapter! It made my heart pound writing it and I hope that you all will enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments. I will try to respond to each and every one when time permits. And as always, questions, comments, and thoughts are welcome!
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts, and potential theories on things as we begin to roll further into the plot.


	4. Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and speculations! I hope I answered all of your questions without spoiling too much for what's to come and cleared up anything that was left a little cloudy. 
> 
> I truly appreciate the time it takes everyone to read and leave a comment. 
> 
> Thank you again!

While the great hall was now empty, they did not depart through the small servant doors from which they entered. Instead, Fen’harel’s hand guided Ellana towards the large entry doors that she assumed would lead out to the temple ground. Grounds that she was familiar with, that would be full of life in a way that wasn’t moss and plants. Elves would walk the grounds rather than hide in the shadows, attacking any who would enter. 

Again, she was faced with something she had not expected. Her assumptions would likely get the better of her. This was no Temple grounds, instead, before them was a city that stretched the expanse of the land. A land that was held in the sky by magic as the ground only went as far as the city before the sky filled the horizon. 

Her hand latched onto Fen’harel’s arm before she could stop herself. 

Fen’harel turned to her, brows furrowed in question.

“Can we look around?” She refrained from adding the ‘please’, but, she was certain he could hear the desperation that lingered in her voice. 

She wanted to see, to know, to experience what they had lost. What wanted to know the world Solas had seen, the world that he had experienced as the man before her. His gaze grew cautious, skeptical of her and her intentions. Her fingers dug in, tightening in a further show of her desperation and desire. Perhaps it was wrong of her to desire to see something she would leave, and again mourn with the rest of her people. Yet, she desired it. 

Fen’harel’s gaze softened a moment before the familiar wolfish grin settled once more into place. 

“Very well, we are in no rush.” His hand carefully removed her’s from his arm before he gestured for her to follow behind him. 

It was a common occurrence, now, for her to fall in step behind him rather than the lead she was used to taking. Different, but she did not protest as they began their descent down the stairs.

“You didn’t want to see Elgar’nan’s judgment?”

He didn’t look at her, but his gait halted for a brief moment before he continued downwards and into the bustling life of the city. 

“No.” He said simply as she fell in beside him, rather than behind him. “Elgar’nan is often clouded by his own fury, and rarely judges any as innocent. There is no doubt that the sinner with meet a rather bloody end.” 

“And you don’t approve?”

They walked at a leisurely pace, elves passed them in groups, and still more lingered in clusters. The elves in the great hall had been great in number, but the elves that filled the city were even more numerous. Homes and shops made up the alleyways, clean, pristine, touched by magic.

“I would not wish to subject you to such a sight. Father and I don’t particularly get along outside of the field of battle, on the occasions that we are fighting alongside one another.” Fen’harel gestured towards a side street in indication of their path and she followed along easily with his cue.

“There’s a war?” She wondered as she took on the sight of the alleyway. No signs in the windows, or hanging outside the shop indicated what they sold. Magical displays meant to draw in potential customers that told them what was inside without explicitly stating it.

“There are many wars. And I have fought in many of them.” 

A fact she already knew, though he was just as free with the information as Solas had been. No details, though, he likely thought her fragile, unfamiliar with blood or fighting. He knew nothing about her, and that could not change. Instead, she shook her head and approached a shop that drew her attention. Solas’ younger self easily followed behind her before she opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Who are you fighting?” She wondered out loud, as she explored the little shop. Fabrics of various shades were on display, much like the type she wore now. Her fingers found the corner of a blue colored fabric twisted it gently.

“There are many wars, not all of them are against the same foe.” He stood behind her, the space between them scarce. His lips teased the shell of her ear, his breath drew a shiver. “Let us not speak of this.”

Her fingers tightened into the fabric she held and he drew away from her yet again. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she kept her gaze fixated on everything but him. She felt him leave her side rather than watching him, and only when she was certain he was gone did she look.

Only, he was not gone. His gaze was fixated on her from a different corner of the shop. He fixated her with another grin before he vanished into the back, leaving her to herself. She turned back to the variety of fabrics, straying away from the shades of blue and exploring the greens and yellows with just as much interest. She wondered if these, two, shifted and formed as the others did, or were they truly just cloth.

It was some time before he returned, his hand caught her attention first as he extended it towards her. She did not reach for him, and he did not falter. Instead, his hand found her shoulder and he guided her from the shop without a word. They felt unnecessary, however, as she had nothing more to ask him about and he seemed not to mind her silence. She had wanted to see the city, she said. 

Once they exited, she ducked away from his hand and pushed forward as the lead. With no choice but to follow or lose her, he fell into her stride. 

The exited the alley and entered the city center, where a market was set up. Booths and stalls all filled the circle, rows upon rows of vendors were gathered, all in a circle. She could only be amazed about the vast amount of people gathered in one place, and the grand hall had been nothing compared to this.

“Is this… Normal?”

Fen’harel’s laughter once again filled the air, amusement for the wonder that filled her voice, or maybe he laughed for the awe she seemed to show at all the wonders that he considered to be normal, ordinary.

“More or less. If you wish to explore, da’sa,” his words colored her cheeks, his tone was as if he was addressing a child, “we are able to do so.” His hand lifted to guide her once more, but she ducked away from him and continued forward, into the crowds and away from the wolf.

He did not give chase, she did not feel his presence behind her. Ellana did not look back for him, did not search for him, and instead, focused on the sights before her. The market reminded her of the human ones she had seen after becoming the Inquisitor. Her clan rarely ventured near human lands, straying away as much as possible but always did they have an ear to the ground.

She or the Second would listen to the politics of the humans, to blend in as much as they could when Keeper Deshanna asked it of them before they slipped away discreetly. But, never had she seen the markets at those times. This, was different, though. This was what they had lost, and likely could never regain. Who was to say how many of the Dalish there were, and if they would come to live in a land that was their own.

Or the city elves -- she could not call them by the insulting name so often used by her people, for they were not truly as bad as they seemed if one considered their circumstances -- would they come to a land that was considered the Dalish’s lands? The elves lands? Would they seek a place that was theirs as well? It was hard to imagine, simply for the hatred that the groups felt towards one another. It would take a great deal of time to break down the walls they built between them.

She shook herself from her thoughts as she gazed at the various baubles on display. The vendors spoke to her but she merely offered smiles before she ventured along. She had nothing she could give in exchange, and she did not wish to seek favors from the Dread Wolf. She was in his grasp too far already.

A cry pulled viciously at her attention, the blood rushed through her veins and her gaze sought for the one who had cried out. 

The crowds began to merge into one, a circle forming to what she could only assume was the source of the cry. She walked with purpose, her feet driven forward before she had a chance to consider her actions.

“Please…” A soft voice pleaded.

The crowd began to part as she drew closer, heads turned to watch her as she breached the crowed. A boy cowered on the ground, blood began to gather at a pool by his bowed head. Adrenaline surged, anger on it’s heel and she felt the blood rush through her. She tried to keep a level head, but to see a _child_ cower in such a manner.

“I gave you a warning,” a man stood before him, and Ellana’s gaze fixated upon him, “Falon’din will be pleased to have another sacrifice in his name.”

His blade was drawn, Ellana’s feet moved before she could hesitate. She launched forward, barely touching the ground as she moved.

’ _Stop! Stop! You cannot--‘_ The Well’s cry briefly filled her ears, but the protests came too late. She could not stop what she had already began.

She manipulated the Fade easily, far more easily than she could remember it being and shaped a blade from the very essence of it. It filled her hand in a moment as she lifted it, flat side forward as she threw herself between the blade and the boy. She braced it with her other hand. She felt herself burn with fury for the man that dare strike down a child.

“You will not harm him.” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, spoken through a snarl that she could not restrain. 

“But he is a _slave_! This--“

She cut him off with a growl and pushed him back with the sword, despite the weight of him behind the blow. He stumbled back and away from her, away from the boy and she poised herself to strike should he approach.

_And now what? You know nothing of this time, the culture, how to respond to these sort of situations. You’ve saved someone who was meant to die. Had you not considered what this could do?’_

She ignored the voices and held her ground against all those who looked at her, who were curious of her next actions. They stood in waiting for something, but she knew nothing further than the actions she had taken. The air was stagnant and heavy, and they all waited for what she could not deliver. 

“My creation has decided that she has use for the pet you wish to discard.” Whispers rose from the crowd, sudden and rampant, sweeping through them until no lips were still. The Dread Wolf’s creation and the disbelief of it the topic that stirred their tongues.

“Y-yes. Of course… But, Falon’din…” The man stuttered and stumbled on his own tongue, the words betrayed him.

“I will deal with my brother, if he feels slighted.” Fen’harel promised as he stepped closer to her side, the crowd watched. His hand touched her shoulder, gently and she did not duck away.

His hand found hers, where she held the Fade sword, and curled around it. He forced it from her hand, unbound the spell and it faded away into nothing.

“Gather your pet. We depart. Now.” He released her with no ceremony and watched her with eyes that burned with raged held captive in his restraint.

She knelt and gathered the cowering boy into his arms. She searched him for injuries, the blood that pooled on the ground around him came from his nose, likely from the blow that would have sent him to the ground. His little hands instantly covered the offending appendage to hold back the blood. 

“Fen--“

He met her soft plea with a look, a cloth procured from his robe that he offered to her. She took it from him and held it to the boy’s nose. The boy took it from her as she rose, determined to see to his own needs. He spoke not a word, nor did he dare to meet her eyes.

Fen’harel did not gesture to her, nor did he call to her as he started forward. The crowd parted for them, clearly in fear of the angered god. She followed him, unable to fall into the place she had found herself in before. He walked too quickly, with too much of a rush, determined to be as far from the incident as possible.

Her ears burned, her cheeks felt hot. She felt like a child scolded, yet she could not bring herself to regret what she had done. The boy would have died if she had done nothing, and she couldn’t simply watch like those who had stood around him.

Ellana kept her eyes firmly on Fen’harel rather than take in the sight of the city as they excited the center once more, passed through various alleyways that was away from the place they had originally entered. She could see where Mythal’s temple stood, if she had turned to look, but she dare not in fear of losing sight of him. 

At the entrance of the city, where the land ended and made way for the sky stood a large eluvian. It rippled with activity, without the need for a password from Fen’harel. She wondered if the destination for this one was set to where no password was needed, open for all to come and go as they pleased. He stood at the edge, watching her as he gestured for her to step through.

She did not hesitate, and Fen’harel followed on her heel. 

This time, the crossroads greeted her though she was given little time to gawk as Fen’harel’s hand was firm upon the small of her back. He guided her forward and her feet followed the path he set. They stepped past many eluvians, alive and active, beckoning her to explore them. They passed many elves who went about their lives, passing through the mirrors as if it held no significant purpose for them.

How things would change.

She turned to look, to watch them slip through the rippling surfaces of the mirrors, the paths and doorways to various parts of the empire. But, she was given no leniency as the god’s hand grew more firm in his guidance. They stopped before an eluvian that was framed by wolves, an indication of whom the mirror belonged to and where it would lead. The door was locked, but he brought it to life again with no spoken word.

He guided her forward and she stepped through.

The library greeted them, a welcome sight and a relief considering what she had thrown herself into. Though the Dread Wolf was still nipping at her heels, silence was heavy between them.

She turned to him as he arrived behind her. His eyes were wild, anger restrained there, held back as his jaw worked. He struggled for the words, struggled for calm. 

“Why?!” He snapped, and she took a step back while the boy cowered in her arms.

“Why what?” Her arms tightened around the boy, her hand covered his head as if to shield him from the shouts.

“Why did you place yourself in danger? You know nothing of etiquette, nor how the small nuances that come from such a challenge. You know nothing of survival and yet you throw yourself before the blade of another? You give no thought nor car of your wellbeing! You are no immortal that is unable to be cut down by mortal blade!” 

His anger reminded her of Solas’, when she had drank from the Well against his warnings. The same anger, the same concern, all deeply etched into his mannerisms. Such a thing would have easily slipped past the normal eye, had one not taken the time to learn him, his demeanor, what had made him who he was. This wolf was not so different than pride. 

She almost laughed at the familiarity of it, but restrained it with the barest hints of a smile. 

Yet, he seemed to sense the laughter that was hidden beneath the slight upturn of the corners of her lips. 

“This is nothing to be amused over, you would have been killed.” Fen’harel’s hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose before he breathed deep.

She had opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

“Give the boy a name, Fen’allan.”

“But--“

“Give. Him. A name.” His gaze found her, eyes intent upon her. She must have given away her desire to protest further as he spoke again. “He may take a new one. In time.”

Ellana squared her jaw in return, lifting it in defiance, a challenge against him. He met her challenge with a stoic expression, unabated by her will, rage was veiled behind that neutrality. 

She did not want a slave. Did not want to name the boy for the meaning that it might hold.

She saved the boy from his fate, from death that would have surely taken him. She changed his place in time. 

She was responsible for him.

“Fine.” Though she relented, she still met his gaze with a stubborn defiance. It was misplaced, she knew. But, she did not want to succumb to the Dread Wolf again, not when she continued to see the glimpses of her heart.

She knelt down and settled the boy before her. He remained clutching his nose with the cloth he had been given, though it showed signs that the bleeding had stopped. She was no healer, though, she could not properly determine his well being aside from what she could see before her. He was young, but he was scrawny, underfed. Trying to guess how old he was on looks alone would be difficult. Tears burned in her eyes while the boy avoided hers. She felt rage for this young boy, rage for her people, rage for what had been and what would come.

She did not regret her decision to act.

“Enansal.” A name of the same conventions of those all who served as slaves. It was simple enough, but the meaning meant more to her. 

The boy smiled, though hidden behind his bloodied hand, though his gaze did not meet hers. It was enough.

 _’Blessing? You are truly naming him such?’_ The voices spoke, incredulous. They echoed the expression that had come to cross Fen’harel’s face.

“Really?” He asked, his tone reminiscent of the time Blackwall had relayed a question he and Sera had about spirits. She smiled, unrestrained, at the familiarity and it gave way to a soft bubble of laughter, no longer able to be contained by a smile alone. It soothed her frayed emotions, allowing her a comfort against the rage that once burned.

“What? _You_ told me to name him.” She grinned, her own smile wolfish like his. “ _He_ likes it.”

The boy remained smiling behind his hand, and Fen’harel turned from them, clearly ruffled by her laughter. He was like a child, this young god, pride before the maturity of age and time. She had rarely seen Solas flustered, even the rage he had shown had been a brief and fleeting experience. Fen’harel was more volatile with his feelings, more open. He had passion, anger, all able to be seen and experienced.

Yet Solas…

She did not linger on those thoughts. The lights above them flickered, a single orb burst with color that was sent on to the next in line, and so forth until that color fled from the library. This phenomenon was new to her, like many things were. She needn’t ask what, exactly, he had done as a woman entered the inner sanctum of the library in moments.

She was a tall woman, broad shoulders, muscular in build. Her face, however, was a contrast for hard lines. Her expression was welcoming and soft as she looked down to both her and the boy that she knelt before.

“Fen’allan has brought home another. Enansal will be his calling. Would you please see to him settling in? His previous… Caretaker… Was not so kind.” Fen’harel spoke, as if the blood had not been an obvious indicator of his previous lifestyle, as if the bones that protruded did not tell story enough. He asked for her assistance rather than command. 

The woman looked to Fen’harel next, her head bowed low before she approached Enansal and Ellana. Her smile was still as gentle and as sweet, but the boy cowered closer to her. A gentle hand extended forward, large but soft. 

“Da’len, would you like something to eat, once we see that your nose is healed?”

He hesitated, sought her gaze for permission. Ellana could only give a gentle nod of encouragement before he took the other woman’s hand. He was assured once the hand gently enclosed his own. The woman stood tall, and again sought Ellana. She bowed low, in a reverence that shook her and left her uncomfortable.

“Fen’allan.” The words shook her still, for the reverence in her voice had been just as clear as the bow. They departed and her gaze followed, until the shelves swallowed them from her gaze.

“Fen’allan.” Fen’harel called for her again, but she did not turn to see him. She could feel his eyes upon her. 

“Fen’allan.” He called again, and she tilted her head to meet his gaze. 

The way he watched her was familiar, curious but asking no questions. A desire to see her actions rather than wonder aloud. Words were meaningless when one could easily shift them to suit their needs. Actions said more of a person and he watched her for how she would act.

“You are free to go.”

“I…” She started, hesitated. “Certainly.”

There would be no point in arguing. She lifted herself from the floor of the library. His gaze burned as she walked away, and she felt it linger until she was out of sight. She found the large doors that had brought her inside. The large doors that had started out her day and stepped through them in a daze.

Sul’assan greeted her at the door with a bow and she smiled at the sight of her. She was guided back to her room, and assisted out of her armor. She was given an easier dress to wear, fabric soft and light, meant for relaxing.

“Master did wish for me to tell you that you are free to explore the grounds.” Sul’assan noted gently, a gentle whisper before she slipped out from the room before she could reply. She did not explore the Temple grounds that day, and instead, fell into a dreamless sleep.

Ellana did not see the Dread Wolf for days after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has truly been one of my favorite chapters to write. The walls Ellana built have began to crumble and she sees Mythal's city and what they had lost.
> 
> She considers how to bring something like this to her people, and realizes the challenges she would face between the two groups as well as the fact that the knowledge she gains here would probably garner the same reaction Solas had spoken to her about with the Dalish, and likely the city Elves...
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Forgotten

Whispers crept into her dreams, inky black fingers that clawed along the edges of her mind, seeping inwards slowly. They whispered cruelties, spoke of torments and taunted her fears. They dug in deeper, twisting through her and pulling at her heart. Whispers of a love that was never real, whispers that promised what she sought. They beckoned her, called to her with a gentleness that was far too sweet.

She pulled back, denying the promises offered. They promised more: release in exchange for the same, freedom for freedom. The freedom of her people, never to be slaves again; now, then, or ever. 

Ellana denied them.

They fingers closed around her.

She burned, blistered, and bled.

She cried, but no sound escaped. She gasped for air, but only fire filled her lungs. For what she denied them, they denied her.

They offered mercy.

And again, she refused. She wept tears that burned along her skin, she wept for the Keeper no longer there. She wept for the man who had worn a mask, hidden behind a name that was not his own. They offered her an end, a sweet release into dreams of bliss, dreams of those whom she longed for. As long as she gave them what they desired.

She did not need to respond for them  to understand her refusal.

Fingers tightened, twisted and began to pull.

She woke with a cry, dazed and confused, lost without light. The windows of her room did not show the moon, offered no solace in the darkness. She lifted a hand and saw nothing, blinded by the terrors that had their hold upon her. She struggled to pull herself from the covers of her bed, drenched in her sweat. Her hair matted to her faces, clothes held far too tight and even once she freed herself, the air was not cool enough to offer relief. Hot, wet feet hit the cool ground and she stood, nearly slipping from beneath her as she struggled for balance.

With hands extended, she found the door and stumbled into the hall. There were no lights there to guide her, vision completely betraying her. Instead, she sought Solas’ aura and found him in the darkness. He was like a beacon of light, shining bright, radiant, to guide her when her eyes could not. 

His room was farther than she remembered, the layout of the ground felt different, the path shifted as if she were in an entirely new place. Once she found his room and slipped past the door, it was easier to move, to see though she did not trust the her eyes and the dimly lit vision they had provided. 

He was asleep. She was careful not to disturb him too greatly as she slipped beneath the covers. He stirred at the added weight in his bed, and again when she nestled into him. His skin was cool to her fire, and she melted into him, forehead pressed to his chest. He stiffened, seemingly awake now that she burned in his touch. She wept, the words she spoke on her dreams but incoherent babbles.

Regardless, he seemed to understand.

“Shh. I will send them away.” He whispered before his lips soothed against her head, pressed gently upon the crown of her head, tender, gentle in a stark contrast of the whispers that harrowed her.

“Thank you,” she breathed out as she tucked herself in closer to his chest, her arms wrapped around him, “Solas.”

He stiffened once again in her arms, his muscles taut as if expecting an attack. She did not ask why, could not ask as his fingers trailed through her hair in a soothing rhythm, following the gentle in and out of his breath. She slipped into sleep, back into the Fade, peaceful at his side.

When light filled the room, she began to wake. She rolled onto her back, stretching out before she opened her eyes and found herself in a room that was not her own. Nor was it Skyhold. Her mind reeled, heat washed over her as her blood rushed from her head and downwards as a panic filled her along with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

A breath was drawn as she rationalized it all, recalled the last few days she had spent here.

_I’m not in Skyhold anymore. I am in Fen’harel’s Temple._

A calm washed over her, but did not rid her of the panic initially felt. She was still not in her room, the lighting was different and the ceiling unfamiliar. She pushed herself up, and found herself without clothes. The night came back to her and her cheeks grew hot. She was sweat drenched and wandering the halls, in search for Solas and… Found the Dread Wolf’s room. Curious, she rose from the bed and abandoned the covers entirely.

Even the walls of Fen’harel’s room were covered in murals, the strokes of the brushes more evident, erratic, done in passion than a need for precise, crisp lines. There was feeling behind each mural, behind each story etched upon the walls. Again, she knew nothing of the stories they told but found herself drawn in by them, fascinated by what they may reveal. One in particular stood out among the rest and she found herself drawn to it.

Fingers touched upon the dried paint on the wall, tracing the outline of a white figure that stood before a crowd of black. Shining figures stood before the figure of white, their hands extended towards only the white figure.

_“They didn’t give the boy what he wanted.”_

_“They did! The boy got a family.”_  

_“They gave him a new one. He wanted his old one. I would have done it better.”_

_“The wise sometimes give people what they need, not what they want.”_

The conversation Solas had with Cole briefly filtered back into her mind as she stared at the mural. He had told stories of himself, at least a small fraction of himself. Not entire truths, or pictures but parts. Just like the murals had captured a singular point in time, Cole had only seen a small glimpse of the man. She couldn’t help but wonder the entirety of it.

“You’re awake.” Fen’harel’s voice came from behind her, from the door that had opened without a sound. 

She turned, leisurely, to face him as he ventured further into the room and the door closed behind him without a sound. He held a tray in one hand, filled with slices of fruit and cubed pieces of cheeses and meats. She tilted her head as she watched him situate himself upon his bed, making himself comfortable while he settled the tray down to rest near him while he splayed out.

He was different today, as if he no longer suspected duplicity from her, or that she would no longer strike against him. She grew wary as his lips curved into a softer smile and he gestured for her to join him upon the bed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She started while her gaze darted towards the door. She moved forward, to avoid the bed entirely.

“Then, join me and it won’t have been intruding.” His answer came easily, that smile strayed from soft and settled into something more cocky, more sure of himself.

Ellana hesitated, then deviated from her intended path. She lowered herself into the bed, across from the wolf. She watched him because she was curious at this turn that had left him less concerned with her presence, that left him less concerned that she may be part of some plot to foil him. And, she was curious about the younger self Solas had mentioned.

“It’s hardly a surprise that you would have trouble standing against those who haunted you. I apologize.” He continued once she had made herself comfortable. He sat up and drew himself closer to her, to the tray of food that sat between them. “If you still feel regret for your intrusion, please allow me to indulge?”

He reached for a piece of fruit, considering before he picked one and lifted it before her, to her mouth.

“I can feed myself.” 

“Indulge me, Fen’allan. After all, sleep eluded me once you had invaded my bed, burning hotter than fire…”

Fen’harel gently traced the fruit along her bottom lip in a gentle insistence. Ellana’s cheeks colored with embarrassment, the intimacy of the action was not lost on her and yet he insisted. 

“Just once.” She relented and opened her mouth to accept his offering, a sweet temptation better off refused. She was careful not to wrap her lips around his fingers that served her, careful to keep the interaction as innocent as possible. 

The Dread Wolf looked positively pleased with himself.

“Who is this Solas you call for in your sleep?”

She slipped and dug her teeth lightly into the man’s fingers, and he did not pull back until she had the fruit securely in her mouth. The tips of her ears burned, embarrassment threatened to kill her there. 

Damn trickster.

He waited for her to finish the fruit before he gestured for her answer, but she did not indulge him so easily again. She reached for a piece of meat from the tray but his hand caught hers.

“Tell me.” He pressed again, his hand firm upon hers as he pulled her in closer.

“No one. Pride does not exist.” Ellana pulled against him, her gaze caught his and bore down upon him with that look alone. Yet, he did not flinch nor retreat. “Why didn’t you have your slaves bring your meal if you were hungry?” 

That pushed a button. His smile faded as he watched her, his gaze narrowed slightly and he said nothing. She freed her hand in his silence, grabbed the intended meat and settled it into her mouth. It was not intended to cause such a reaction, though said in ill will with ill intent. There had been a curiosity behind the question to seek answers for his actions.

“They are not slaves.”

“They wear your vallaslin.”

“Yes, and they have done so willingly, lest they wish to cast their lives away.” He stated, his look challenging her to say more before he continued. “Those whom were given as gifts cannot be turned away so easily, either. To refuse would be their death.”

She did not challenge this, and, instead opted for silence than a retort. 

“Were you once a slave?” He asked with little pause, smooth and utterly deceptive of the nature of his question.

“What? No! I’ve never been a slave.”

He considered her again and she tensed under his gaze. She had answered too quickly, with too much disdain for the thought. Her words had slipped before she had intended to speak, before she could school herself into a neutrality.

“Curious… You can read, yet you struggle. When you speak, there’s a hesitation before you do. It happens less and less, but when you were first brought upon me… You don’t know how, and yet you can.”

“When did--“

“I can teach you.” He interrupted, his blue eyes danced with a cheerful mirth.

And, he continued to surprise her. His youth continued to shine through, hints of Solas were there but he was young. Solas would smile when she asked questions, and he would offer to teach her what he knew. He gave her help without resistance, and even now he offered her something of immeasurable value. 

“I would appreciate it.”

Fen’harel’s smile returned to his lips, wolfish and predatory once again. He leaned in closer, lifted another piece of fruit from the tray and brought it to her lips. He trailed it along her bottom lip again, gentle and teasing, attempting to goad her into opening her mouth again. She indulged, against her better judgment.

Her eyes closed and she allowed herself to drift, briefly, away.

His fingers touched her lips and her eyes flew open in response. He was so close, too close.

“We can’t.” She whispered, a repeat of his words that he would someday speak.

“Indulge me, ma da’sa.” He brought a piece of cheese to her lips instead of his fingers, this time. “What are you? Why are you Elvhen, yet… You are not? You are so much, but you know so little. You look upon me with hate in one moment and sorrow the next.”

Blue eyes burned with a desire to know and she almost cowered away from it. They were questions she could not answer.

 _‘The wolf is always impatient, wanting more but never knowing when to think before he acts, even with how clever he is.’_ The Well's voice teased, a soft spoken intruder upon the moment. 

His name came to the tip of her tongue, a name that he would call himself. She said nothing but turned away from his offer of food. Her heart wrenched in her chest while she pulled back, away from him. She wanted to indulge him, to fall into him and the intimacy that he offered. But, to him she was only a curiosity. He wanted answers that she held, and he would likely grow bored when the mystery of that was his Fen’allan was solved. 

“I can’t. I know nothing.” She climbed off the bed, her gaze upon him, held captive by his.

“Your eyes say otherwise.” He pressed, again. “You carried my scent and yet we had never met. You are marked by my magic.”

“You are stubborn, _hahren_ ,” she said, though the title was not meant to hold respect. A reminder of the distance between them, time and otherwise. “You will figure it out." 

Fen’harel was not deterred by her words, nor by her avoidance of his questions. He still smiled at her, proud as he was. He watched her like a mystery to be solved.

“So I have been told.” He followed her from the bed, but he did not stalk her like some prey as she backed further away. Instead, he gathered a robe and descended upon her. He did not ravish her, nor capture her in his hold. He wrapped her delicately in the robe, covered her gently and tied it closed. He backed away from her and allowed her to depart, should she choose to.

Ellana dared not linger any longer.

This could not happen again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everyone. I really enjoyed this chapter! I hope the explanation of the shift in time transitioned smoothly. Can you guess what Fen'harel was doing in his free time when Ellana didn't see him? 
> 
> I took some liberties with Solas' dialogue with Cole. I know it's probably not at all related to his past, but, when I heard it? I had certainly thought it had something to do with his past and I crafted an idea around it. Thus, it is here in this story. :)
> 
> Fen'harel's POV is located here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3213554


	6. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, we begin to touch a little onto the codex entries and my take on their interpretations. We begin to see some of the characterizations of the gods we have met and will meet at some point within this story. We also get to see the difference between the times as far as magic goes and Ellana's response to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos everyone! They mean more than you can imagine. This chapter was meant to come out sooner, but I ended up scrapping and reworking half of it as I wasn't pleased with the flow once it was typed from paper. I worry about the flow of it still, I'm not sure if it lives up to the standards of the previous chapters, but I do hope you enjoy.

Ellana’s heart thudded loudly in her chest, the sound filled her ears and the blood rushing from her head served as background to the erratic rhythm. She closed the door behind her, far from gentle but the door made no sound to indicate that it had been treated so roughly, enchanted into silence by a clever spell. She leaned against the wood, quivering as she allowed herself a moment of respite to gather the frayed pieces of herself. Her hearts were at war, a battle of wills that she should not encourage any further. 

He may have been the Dread Wolf, but he was still Solas. Still her heart, still the man she had found herself growing weak against.And no matter how much she loved him, no matter how much she desired him, she could not allow for this weakness. 

It would not end pleasantly for either of them, and it would be kinder to spare him the pain of her departure.She could not allow him to grow closer nor could she allow him to try and solve the mystery she presented. And, even if he was not invested in her emotionally, part of him would be hurt at her sudden disappearance. And just as he had, in a time that was not yet upon them, she would have to push him away. He had warned her that no good would come from what was between them, but she extended her hand to him, despite this.

Drawing a breath, she pushed away from the door and squared her shoulders as she walked away. Pride held her up as she refused to crumble, refused to run away like a wounded animal, prepared to lick her wounds. The feelings in her heart were heavy, but she could not allow them to be worn upon her sleeve. Instead, she focused on the feel of the ground beneath her feet and the soft sounds of her steps. Each step increased the distance between them, each step served as a strengthening of her resolve. 

_‘This can be used. His curiosity gains you his attention, his attention can be used to ask for more and he will deliver. You will be gone from this place, and to him, you will become just a passing memory.’_

_Right._ She agreed with the Well, though using him in such a manner felt wrong.

But what other choice was there?

The door to “her” room came into view, a rush of relief followed. The room a temporary haven where she could collect her thoughts and block out the knowledge that she was not where she belonged. A place where she could hide, if only temporarily, and be Ellana without the mask of Fen’allan placed firmly upon her face by all those who saw her. A necessary evil, the mask she wore. 

She reached for the handle of the door, the metal cool to her touch but fleeting as she pushed it open and stepped inside.

Warmth filled the air and gently brushed against her cool cheeks in the softest of welcomes. The door closed behind her with a soft touch, trapping the rest of the heat inside. 

She saw the hearth was alive with a fire of vibrant yellows, welcoming and cheerful. It was meant to be the first greeting of the morning, had she been properly tucked away in her bed. Sul’assan stood at the wardrobe, carefully placing more clothing into her growing collection. She hummed a soft, haunting tune as she worked, only turning to greet her once the song ended on a sorrowful note.

“I see you got up early again, mistress.” Her soft voice was cheerful and vibrant with life despite the nickname that caused Ellana to grit her teeth. It was not something she would get used to. Ever.  “Did you have a good breakfast?”

“Oh. Breakfast was… Fine. Did Fen’harel send these?” Her question held an obvious answer, yet, Ellana still asked.

“Yes. He said that you needed a proper assortment for all occasions. I think they’re lovely.” Sul’assan said as she lifted one of the outfits she had yet to put away. 

Flowing blue fabric composed a majority of the dress, soft and delicate in all appearances. It was something Ellana would not have opted to wear on a regular basis. The skirt of the dress was the most complicated of the dress, revealed when Sul’assan lifted the hem of the dress and allowed the layers to show clearly. Sheer fabrics of lime green and electric yellow accented the sheer blue that made up the skirt of the dress, only to be shown when in movement. 

But what stood out most with the dress was the fact that each one of these fabrics had been what had caught her eye when they had gone into the store. He had been paying attention.

“They’re lovely.” She breathed out as she approached, her fingers reached out to touch the fabrics once again, as she had in the store. “Oh. Did you and Enansal eat together?”

“Yes. You weren’t in your room and--“

“Please don’t feel guilty. You don’t need to wait for me.” Ellana smiled at the girl as she sheepishly smiled back and offered the dress out to her. 

“We _did_ miss you.” Sul’assan’s voice dropped to a softer volume, just above that of a whisper.  

Ellana took the offered dress and Sul’assan turned away, her focus intent on the remaining clothes that had yet to be put away in the wardrobe properly. Ellana placed the dress upon her bed and tugged at the ties that held the wolf’s robe in place. Her shoulders rolled, freeing her of the flimsy fabric. It gathered in a pool at her feet that she stepped away from before she lifted the fabric that made her dress and stepped into the skirt. It was unlike the first outfit she had worn, one collection of fabric versus a two-piece set.

“Did Enansal…? Do you think he’ll speak to me soon?” She pulled the dress up and settled the bodice into place, wrapping the extra fabric around her torso as Sul’assan had done with the first garment she had been given.

“No.” Sul’assan answered with no hesitation, her tone still soft. “He will likely maintain his silence for a month.”

As Ellana finished with the wrappings of her dress, her fingers trailed over the loose fabric with a gentle touch of magic laced upon her fingertips. Loose ends were drawn in, the folds of the fabric now fitting to her form as if crafted for her alone. Sul’assan had shown her how to weave the magic through the threads, how to will them to fit her. Her fingers, now devoid of magic, teased over the fabric of her dress in admiration. As her fingers came to rest where the skirt met the bodice, she was surprised to find the soft fabric to be hardened beneath her touch despite the appearance that suggested otherwise.

It was armor. A trick of the trickster, hiding armor in a dress that would normally be used for anything but.

She turned to Sul’assan as she finished the final touches of dressing. “Why? Why would he not speak to me for a month?”

“Because, he was once of Dirthamen. The greatest respect he could give you is his silence, for his lips will never spill your secrets.”Sul’assan gestured for Ellana to take a seat at the mirror once again, smiling.

“I… That’s an interesting ritual. But, how does not speaking to me prove that?”Ellana wondered as she took the indicated seat.

Sul’assan’s small hands set to work quickly, unweaving the braids of the previous day that she had woven in. The girl had shown a fondness for playing with Ellana’s hair and she was more than happy oblige. In the last few days, they had grown close despite the short time knowing one another. Sul’assan had become like a sister, a part of her clan and her hair being braided by another was reminiscent of something she could no longer return to. And, it made the girl happy.

“To thank you with words would be a great temptation. By saying nothing, by not giving into that temptation, he is proven worthy of carrying your secrets for he would never speak them even under the greatest of temptations.” Sul’assan went on to explain as her fingers worked through the tangles left by the weaving of her hair. 

Ellana wondered if such a ritual had withstood the fall of the empire, though she could not recall Keeper Deshanna telling her of such a ritual. Though her training as the First was far from complete. It was possible that another clan practiced such rituals, however.  

“I see. How would you thank someone, Assan? Do those who follow June have such rituals?”

In the mirror, Ellana saw Sul’assan shake her head, lips curved upwards in an idle smile as she worked.

“No, June doesn’t have any elaborate ritual. I think I would make them an arrow that sings. Or, a quiver full if my respect and adoration for them was great. Though, master Fen’harel would need to approve of that, now.” 

Sul’assan gathered her hair once the knots and tangles were removed, sectioning it into three pieces. Carefully, she wove the sections together along the skull that would keep the stray locks from falling into her face. It made her hair look completely shaven, considering half was cut close to her skull, fluffy with new growth. As Sul’assan finished the braid, tied off with itself, small fingers teased along the shortened hair, thoughtful.

“Fen’allan? Did you want to grow your hair out?” The question broke the line of their previous question, abrupt. “I mean… If you don’t want to. But, it’d look so lovely.” The girl colored with the request, selfish in nature but Ellana could only smile. 

“We can let it grow.” 

The smile she received in return glowed with the girl’s delight at the prospect. Ellana saw no reason to deny the request, the reason for styling her hair in such a manner had been a simple whim, a rebellion at one point. It was flimsy, and without purpose now. And if it made her pseudo-sister happy, then she could forgo the style.

With her hair done, Ellana rose from the chair and lifted her hand to gingerly fluff Sul’assan’s shorter hair, her lips curved upward in a grin. “Thank you. It looks lovely.”

The pink in Sul’assan’s cheeks darkened with her pleasure for the compliment, pleasure with her work. But the moment was fragile, even in the haven of the room, as the sound of a knock at the door cut between them. The relaxed stance Sul’assan had slipped into grew rigid and distant as she ducked away from Ellana’s hand to answer the call.

Ellana turned to watch the exchange at the door, the girl only stepping away after a whispered exchange. The door opened as Sul’assn pulled it open, her small form lowered into a bow as she welcomed the visitor.

Grumpy stood before her, flustered in a manner that was made evident by the shade of red that colored his neck, peeking out from beneath the collar of his armor. She recalled that she had not encountered him again since her arrival.

“Ah, Fen’allan.” He spoke as if he was surprised to find her there. “Har’enaste would like you to join him in the courtyard.” 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sul’assan grin widely in her direction before she escaped from the room, completely undetected, leaving her with the sentinel. He held himself in a manner that was completely opposite of their first meeting. The man that stood before her was embarrassed, humble with no sign of contempt for her.. 

“Of course. I’ll head that way now.” She moved to step past him, but he blocked her from the door, sheepish but determined.

“Allow me to escort you.”

“That isn’t needed… Ah. I don’t know your name.” 

“It’s Bel’dare. Fen’allan, I ask that you allow me this.”

He stood adamant, willful against her own. He would not budge as she attempted to duck around him once more, his arm offered out for her to take. She relented, slipped her arm carefully into his as she stepped closer to his side. Bel’dare tucked her arm in against his and rested the opposite palm upon her hand. 

He guided her from her room, silence settled between them as they walked. His gaze focused forward as she observed him, the way he fidgeted in her presence. The gentle twitch of his fingers upon her hand an indication of words unspoken, begging to be released. He held them firmly back, they lingered and fueled his anxiety. He was a man who was used to always being right, a man who was used to rarely explaining the decisions he made. 

And when she was claimed by Fen’harel, to be his creation, he came to question himself. He came to regret how he had handled her, perhaps he, too, considered her to be nothing more than a child.

“You don’t need to apologize. You were concerned for your god’s safety. You did nothing wrong. I couldn’t provide you with answers and your suspicions were justified.”

“I shouldn’t have expected you to be able to explain.” Bel’dare returned, just as stubborn, the hint of displeasure she was more familiar with laced in his voice. His words came more freely, now that she had broken their silence. “You are young, and knew nothing. If there had been deceit, you would have spun a story.”

As Varric would have recommended. It was hardly wise to attempt to spin a tale when you knew nothing of where you were, the background of the setting you were in. And, she had no need to explain herself to a _dream_.

“Protector of Many… You can’t afford to allow little things to slip past you. I think you did as you should have.”

Silence returned, bidden by his lack of response. He lead her from the Temple, down the path they had first taken together, though the circumstances differed. He had walked behind her and the two other sentinels, with another at his side. She had seen none of them since.

He took the path through the garden, and his path slowed to allow her gaze to wander. He remembered how she had twisted and turned to take in the sights.  

“How did you come to serve Fen’harel?” She wondered, her voice again cut through the silence.

His step faltered, only a fraction and for the barest of moments before he regained his stride, aligning with her own.

“It’s not a story you would want to hear.”

“I’m sure it isn’t so bad.” She teased as they passed by the wolves of stone that stood guard, vigilant in their posts, unmoving, always watching. Her gaze drifted over them, the fine craftsmanship of them, and past them towards the trees twined with crystal. 

Her gaze took to the sky where castles mingled with the clouds without care, without worry. Blissful in the lack of knowledge of what would come. Bel’dare allowed her gaze to wander, kept his stride slow so that she could take in all of the sights. It was new to her, regardless of what origin they thought she bore. She wanted to remember it all, for the people who would never know.

“I challenged him. And I lost.”

Her gaze was drawn to the sentinel in an instant, his gaze caught in hers. “A challenge?” 

“Not a true challenge. I insulted him. He took the first strike and I retaliated. We fought and I lost.”

“He did say he was a fighter. Why did you insult him?”

Bel’dare shook his head, the hand upon hers patted it gently as he did. The courtyard came into view, the one called Har’enaste stood in waiting. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes fixated upon them but did not urge them to rush forward. Though subtle, he fidgeted, a shift of his weight from one foot to the next. Like the sentinel on her arm, both had vehemently sought to protect the wolf and now felt something akin to guilt.

She wondered on their fate, when that time came.

_‘A question better left unanswered.’_ The Well spoke, gentle whispers in the back of her mind that she pushed aside as she was released from the man’s hold.

“A story for another time, Fen’allan. If you do well in my lessons.”

“Wait. What lessons?”

His only response was a low bow, a hint of a smile upon his lips before he left her side. While the smile served as a slight comfort that Grumpy was not always as the nickname portrayed, rage’s kin was another story entirely.

Ellana stepped forward, towards the courtyard to where Har’enaste waited, wavering between apologetic and aloof, to which he failed on both accounts. 

“What lessons, hahren?” She asked again as she stepped onto the stones of the courtyard’s ground, the temporary domain of the wolf’s Highest.

“Control, Fen’allan. At least, the ones you will receive from Bel’dare and myself. Fen’harel spoke with us on your… Display. Admirable as it was, there were expectations not met.” Har’enaste spoke with little hesitation with a topic to focus on, the indecision on how to approach her remedied. “Your spell was sloppy, fragile… It was a surprise that your sword had managed to withstand a strike as it had.”

His words did not bring embarrassment, nor would she allow herself to feel embarrassed. This time, abundant with magic, had overwhelmed her ability to cast. Upon reflection, the sword she had wielded against the man had felt unstable in her hands and only held together by the rush of adrenaline that had pushed her forward. To withstand a blow had been surprising, but control would have been lost had Fen’harel not stepped in. She had not cast a true spell since then, unable to untangle herself of the abundance so easily. 

To be so thoroughly saturated had been strange and thrilling at the beginning.

“Furthermore,” Bel’dare continued, “the matter of your challenge against one of Falon’din’s nobles. It is not customary to growl like a wolf when a challenge is issued.”

This brought color to her cheeks, embarrassment swept through her and she managed a sheepish smile. The growls had been unintentional. 

“So, you’ll be teaching me to control my magic and how to issue a proper challenge?”

“That is a few of the things you’ll be learning. You are without both knowledge and experience,” Har’enaste gestured her forward, to step into the inner part of the courtyard beside him. “But, that’s expected of someone who is so young. We will supplement and teach where we must. Now, Fen’allan, your hands, please.”

Both of his hands lifted, palms upwards as Ellana stepped forward. Curiosity tugged at her, her palms settled in his hands. As if that was a trigger, his aura expanded outwards to encompass her own in a pressure that she had not felt since Mythal’s grand hall. She felt tiny again, overwhelmed by the sudden expression of power from the man. It was meant to lower her guard, to make her feel diminutive against him. She did not push her own aura outwards, lest she reveal herself to be more than the claims.

His fingers curled about her hands, a gentle pressure meant to comfort as his magic pushed forward to overtake her own. Like a pitcher filled to the brim, magic spilled from her, sparks of fire blinked in and out with nothing to burn and nothing to sustain them. It was _painful_ , she tried to retreat, to pull her hands from his but Har’enaste kept her firmly in place. She drew a breath but her lungs found no satiation in the act.

He pulled and twisted her own, manipulating her magic as Gr-- Bel’dare had when he activated the anchor through no will of her own. She pulled again, to free herself of his grasp but his aura encompassed her completely, the pressure pushed against her own.

“Bring forth a flame.” He commanded, his eyes intent upon hers. 

“I can’t… I can’t control it.”

“And that, da’len, is the purpose of this lesson. You’ve drawn in excess from what lingers in the air, from what sustains, from what surrounds you. You can’t distinguish what is your own when you have knotted yourself so thoroughly into it.” The smile he gave was meant to comfort while the grip upon her hands was firm as it pulled her magic forward to the tips of her fingers. “And, there are times when you may need to rely on that, but as it stands, only children do that without thought.”

“But… Wouldn’t more power be a good thing?”

“One would think so, yes. But when you are so full of your own resources, pulling in extra while not expelling any does tend to lead to a sudden… Unfortunate death. Now, cast your spell. I have control and will show you how to untangle yourself.”

At the second urging, the magic gathered at her fingertips pulled inwards at her will. His own followed like a gentle guide, until it sparked in her palms. The magic that surrounded them wavered and responded, crack;ing as it threatened to be drawn in but held at bay by the man who guided her. Flames ignited from the spark, a steady and controlled burn. She breathed in, relief heavily upon her as a smile settled upon her lips.

“Good. Now, I will begin to release my hold on you. Restrain your magic, and block what threatens to overwhelm you. Concentrate and control only your own magic.”

“I’ve got it.” Ellana’s gaze focused on the flames as she poke, her confidence was, hopefully, not premature. She had begun to felt the difference, her own magic like a gentle breeze. Har’enaste’s was firmer, older, strange but not unpleasant. The air that surrounded her was wild, exhilarating… She had tangled herself in it upon her arrival by taking it all in without restraint. 

She would not be so foolish again. 

His hands began to retreat from the contact between then, slow, careful in their extraction. It was slow, excruciating and her focus wavered from the fire to the feel of his hands as they retreated from her. The magic in the air battered against her, the flames flickered, bringing her attention back to her hands and the feel of the magic around her.

“Fen’allan? Tell me what you know of the gods.”

Ellana’s gaze lifted from the flames to the man that stood before her, his hands upon her own, but only a fraction. “You told me to concentrate.”

“And you should be concentrating. But, in what situation will your opponent, should you fight, allow you to cast a spell uninterrupted? You can do both.”

She felt like a little girl all over again, impatient with the slow methods that Keeper Deshanna had used to teach her. She was scolded when she tried to rush through, when she had tried to ignore the focus that had been required for certain spells that did not come to her naturally. Her magic ran rampant as a child, lack of focus made it harder to cast anything aside from the most menial of tasks. She had never thought she would feel this way again.

“Fine…” It was harder to distinguish the difference as she spoke, his magic was still present but only faintly as he continued to pull away to leave her to her own devices. “I saw Mythal cast judgment. Fen’harel said that the People are bound to seek her for judges ment when I arrived… But she still sends some to Elgar’nan.”

Ellana recalled the Dalish tales of the gods, and wondered on the merits of them. Solas had been so adamant that the gods were not truly gods, that the stories the Dalish had told were not truths but wishful thinking, nostalgia of a time the had never experienced. They were best left unspoken, and, instead she focused on what she had witnessed. The fire flickered as the outside magic battered against her again in an attempt to be drawn in during her negligence.

“Andruil seems to hate Fen’harel, but wants to trap him as well. They’ve apparently had wars before. And June,” she hesitated as her concentration focused on her magic instead of the words she spoke, “is competitive.”

Laughter came from the man as he released her entirely though his hands remained braced near hers. The last of his magic untangled from her own in a rush similar to a frigid breeze. 

“Relationships between the gods are a fragile thing, held together by Mythal alone. And even the relationships of the People are held in balance, the weight of that duty settled upon her shoulder. It is best that you remember how each one interacts so that you don’t step into the crossfire of a petty spat. Mortals often become the pawns of their games.”

No response came from Ellana as his magic battered against hers, sudden, without relent. It sought a hole in the defenses she had begun to build against the magic in the air. She did not crumble under the weight of his attack, nor the weight of his aura against hers. The flame burned, steady, untouched by the influences that threatened.

“Good,” Har’enaste’s praise brought a smile, “stay like that and we will see how long your will can manage.”

Her agreement came as a nod, the words died upon her lips as concentration again wavered. The mans hands left their guarded position around hers to gesture upwards, an indication for her to meet his eyes. Her gaze lifted, focused instead on his eyes rather than the fires that burned in her hands.

“Elgar’nan, considered the father, does not favor Fen’harel, June, nor Dirthamen,” he continued to explain while he returned his hands to their braced position around hers, all while he continued to badger his magic against hers. 

“Why doesn’t he favor them?” 

“Fen’harel likes to push the limits. June created himself, offered a place amongst the pantheon by Mythal without his consultation. Or, that’s what the rumors say. And for Dirthamen… Elgar’nan does not like the idea that his son split his soul and shared it with his mortal friend. If you happen to be around the twins and Elgar’nan, it is best to maintain silence.”

Stories told of Falon’din as Dirthamen’s twin, though it had seemed more literal than a splitting of the soul. Perhaps time had changed the story because to split the soul…

“Falon’din split his soul in half? How… Would you even accomplish that?” The fire flickered as Har’enaste’s magic pierced against hers, focus fractured and cracked. He pulled back, briefly his lips curled into a grin.

“I wouldn’t know. Falon’din is exceptionally talented and has always been that way.” His hands curled around hers, the contact of his hands upon hers extinguished the flames and her magic refused to budge, held frozen in her veins. “You leave yourself open. There are many holes, one only needs patience to find them.You leave open your flow of magic, allowing it to be manipulated and I could stop it with little effort.”

His disappointment was evident. Again, she felt like a child before him, and her cheeks heated with shame as color flooded them.

“However,” Har’enaste spoke again, gentle, soothing as his hands encompassed hers in a gentle hold. “You have picked up the subject matter far more quickly than I would have expected. Cast another flame, only one this time.”

Freed of his hands once more, she lowered her left hand and focused on the right. She willed her magic back to the palm of her hand, felt his wrap around her, dancing about in waiting to a moment to strike. She drew a breath and held it as the flame sparked in her hand. His battered against her magic again, and she did not feel the additional pull of the magic around her. No longer did she draw it in intentionally or not, a weight she hadn’t noticed until she freed of it.

As his magic returned to seek an opening, she shifted her own and allowed his assault. She wove his magic against him, used it a s a supplement of her own rather than attempt to block it. The flame suffered no change as a result. Har’enaste smiled in earnes.

“As far as the gods go,” he began to explain as his magic retreated, her own twisted to negate the loss, “Andruil is who you should be most wary of. She has waged most of the wars against Fen’harel for various reasons. I’m uncertain how she will treat you.” 

Their magic twined and played in a dance, with his attempts to overtake her own. The final attempt, she flared her magic against his, defensive yet again.

“Be cautious of June. I don’t believe he holds any ill intent, but, you can never be too careful.” Har’enaste then gestured for her to extinguish the flame, the smile on his lips was far more pleased than the previous. “You are far from perfect, but, you have exceeded my expectations. I will give you some exercises to practice. Bel’dare will expand upon what you’ve learned today. Elvarel will teach you more offensive applications.”

“Thank you, Har’enaste.” She could do nothing but thank him, their consideration for her touched her greatly. She could hardly refuse when they cared so greatly, when they had fidgeted in concern of how to apologize to her. 

She would play the role of the wolf’s creation.

“Of course. You weren’t incompetent and you are quick to learn, as expected of Fen’harel’s creation.” Har’enaste lowered himself into a bow of respect that doubled as a dismissal. “I will inform him of your progress, and then there are other tasks to attend to. We will begin to go over your duties in time. For now, enjoy your youth.”

It was not meant to be a jab, but it still cut deep. They expected so much from her, they had intergrated her into their world in such a short amount of time, and planned far beyond what she was able to comprehend. She was a fixture for them, now, as the creation of the wolf. She had a place in a world she did not belong and that knowledge ate heavily at her heart.

_‘All the more reason for you to focus on your search. Our time, and theirs, is limited though they believe themselves to be without an end. Do not be swept into their pace.’_

_I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now have mentions of one of the other sentinels. Their names all do have meanings unique to them, which will be expanded upon as we get to know them.
> 
> I made up the ritual for Dirthamen as I was considering what you could do to show your respect and gratefulness to someone when your original god was the God of Secrets. Thus, Enansal's ritual was created: Silence for a month. We will see him, but he will be silent until that time period is over.
> 
> As for the magic, I really think ancient times had a greater abundance of it: how else would you explain castles in the sky or trees twined with crystal? I think the trees were a natural occurrence of the extra magic, and then the magic it took to suspend castles in the sky would need an abundant resource...
> 
> As always, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask and I will be happy to explain!


	7. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update: I don't usually post two days in a row, but, this chapter begged to be type. And, with this chapter, we end my buffer of chapters so updates will either come as I finish them, or I'll spend the week writing as much as possible and posting one at a time.
> 
> Thank you so so so much everyone who takes the time to read, comment, leave kudos, etc. I love reading each and every comment.
> 
> Thank you so much for the support!
> 
> I do warn that this chapter brought me to tears as I wrote it, but, I'm a bit of a bleeding heart.

The night sky crept upon them, the lesson had gone on longer than Ellana had thought. The manipulations of a different sort of magic than what she once knew took an added effort to master. Her attention, so drawn inward, had failed to notice the passage of time. It was possible that the moments of silence that had cropped between them had not simply been moments, but hours. And if that were the case, Har’enaste had a great deal of patience.  

If the ancient elves had truly thought themselves timeless, however, such matters would be trivial. Time would be seen as a commodity, something to be traded in exchange for goods. A luxury she could not truly afford, for her own time in the world had a limit.

She did not linger on those thoughts as she began her trek back into the walls of the Temple, passing through the gardens get again, past the stone guardians. Her feet carried her up the stairs and into the hall where the nightly activities began and daily duties end. Those who were loyal to Fen’harel filled the halls with lively chatter, whispers of the lesson upon their lips, gossip spread from one temple to the next by the slaves and servants. A lively bunch, whom all greeted her with smiles that she could not help but return.

And as she moved past them, her head bowed in both greeting in farewell before she retreated into the further depths of the Temple. Her feet carried her down a familiar path, past empty rooms that she had explored once she had been given free rein of her person. Only one room in particular held anything of interest. It was a peculiar room, with a door crafted with a mysterious mechanism. It came into sight as she turned the corner and hurried to meet it. 

Ellana lifted her hand, placed her palm upon the center of the door, magic surged forth and sought hers in a gentle brush of greeting. It came to life, the inner workings of the doors turned and creaked nosily. A mysterious bit of magic that she hadn’t figured out, another curiosity this time offered her and was lost to time. Once all the inner latches freed themselves, the door popped open and waited for her to push the rest of the way in. 

The small alcove was heated by a small fireplace that also served as light when the large mosaic windows could provide no more. Pillows provided furnishing for the room, the color scheme a gradient of red to yellow. Large and small, the pillows provided the necessary seating. The only proper furnishing was the small table that served as a surface. 

Enansal and Sul’assan sat together, the table moved to rest beside the window. They turned to look in her direction, both wore brilliant smiles, excitement barely contained. It was Sul’assan who moved first, rising from the pillow she had used as a chair and rushed upon her. Smaller hands grasped both of hers and squeezed.

“Fen’allan! We saw you in the courtyard,” the girl bounced as she spoke, only to pull her back towards the table where a plate of food sat waiting amongst two empty ones. “You did so well.” Pride radiated from her voice and color touched upon Ellana’s cheeks.

“Thank you. I took such a long time to learn, though.” Her stomach growled, an indication of the missed meal. Color flooded her cheeks further, staining them red.

Soft laughter came from both Enansal and Sul’assan as the girl guided Ellana to sit. Enansal said nothing, but he pushed the plate and utensils so that they sat before her while Sul’assan returned to her seat at the table. Both grins still lingered as she leaned in to take a bite from the food so generously fetched by the pair. Suspicion crept forth as she looked between the pair whom looked much like the cat who had eaten the songbird.

“DidI miss something?”

“Yes! Well… No, not really. You wouldn’t have known. Enansal just told me earlier.” Sul’assan spoke for the boy who nodded his head vigorously, and once more to encourage the girl to continue. “Har’enaste has granted permission for Enansal to advance in his studies. Fen’harel gave him permission to train to be a sentinel. _Your_ sentinel.”

“My sentinel?” Ellana asked and both nodded once more.

Her heart clenched tight, guilt crept inwards and began to chew at her. They were both so proud, so excited for what was, she assumed, a great achievement for one so young. But her plans did not include her staying so long to see it come into fruition. And she could not tell them this. The best option would be to distance herself from the makeshift family she had unintentionally began to gather

“I’m flattered, Enansal.” She could not sharpen her heart to a cutting edge so easily, could not deny them this moment.

 _‘It would be kinder in the long run…’_ The Well reminded, a taunting echo of memories past, cutting through the moment with little restraint. _‘Be aware of this foolish game you play. We cannot stay, and the less time spent here, making friends, the less impact your presence will have on the future and it will lessen the impact of your departure.’_  

She pushed the words to the back of her mind, favoring, instead, the smiles of pride that became her own. Both were pleased with Enansal’s accomplishment, pleased with her response and she could not deny them that happiness. Their proud smiles fueled her own.

“Thank you for getting dinner for me.” She added before she lifted a portion of the meal to her lips, the sharp flavors hitting her tongue. Bold and vibrant, the meals reflected her experience in this time. 

“Of course. We wanted to make sure you had something to eat, especially if you accidentally missed dinner.” Sul’assan spoke as Enansal set to work on clearing the empty plates. The girl turned her gaze towards the boy and shook her head, expression reproachful. “You need to go rest, Enansal. Your training starts tomorrow, too.”

The boy’s response came as a sheepish smile as he again attempted to take the dirtied dishes with him, but Sul’assan batted his hands away and shooed him with a gesture. His smile grew wider, a touch of laughter slipped past his lips before he bowed low to the pair and made his departure. 

Ellana could only watch the exchange, an odd sort of fondness bubbled forth. They, too, had grown close since his rescue. 

“He is really sweet, Fen’allan. I am glad you saved him.” Sul’assan spoke again, drawing Ellana’s gaze. “Did you want to bathe after your meal?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to trouble you any further.” Ellana spoke before she finished off the rest of her meal, the plate cleaned of each morsel before it joined the pile. 

“You’re not troubling me. I _want_ to.”

“I… I don’t feel comfortable letting someone younger than me do so much, Sul’assan.” It felt wrong in Skyhold to have servants dote on her, and stranger still when it was someone she had begun to care for.

“But Fen’allan,” Sul’assan laughed, melodic and sweet, “ _everyone_ is older than you. I’m nearly one-hundred!”

“Oh.” Was all Ellana could manage in reply as Sul’assan rose from her seat. A small hand settled on her head in a comforting gesture. Her cheeks grew hot under the pressure of the girl’s attempt at comfort for her embarrassment. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, mistress. Please rest well?” 

Sul’assan bowed low, a bright smile lingered on her lips with laugher hidden behind her eyes, before she gathered the dirtied dishes and departed from the room. Ellana was left to the silence of her thoughts, the fire that crackled and danced in the fireplace more obvious with the lack of others.

 _‘Is it really such a surprise that age touches them differently? You saw the Dread Wolf, thousands of years from this time, yet how much older does he appear?’_ The Well reminded once more. 

When Sul’assan had said everyone was older than her, she had thought in the sense that everyone believed her only to be a handful of days old. And in that context, she had been correct. Ellana had not thought that everyone was older than her. But, time was kinder to those who were immortal, not touching them with age until they were thousands of years old. She did not belong in this time where she, in her thirties already, would begin to show the signs of age so early.

She rose from the table, abrupt but determined as she killed the fire and departed from the room, the heavy door locking behind her. 

Her feet hit the ground heavily as she passed the empty rooms again, past the main chamber where the followers of the wolf lingered in an attempt to forgo bed. Her pace increased as she closed the distance to the library, from a steady walk to a slight jog. A sense of urgency set flame to her heel, the Well’s silent urging burning the flames hotter. 

The familiar door came into view, her hand sought contact instantly to urge it open. And it did so with ease, allowing her to step inwards to where the information she needed lay.

The library was not empty at night. Those who did not linger in the main chamber sought intellectual pursuits, escaping into the books as she had. Though, she had thought nothing of it before, all of these people, marked with the vallaslin of the wolf, reading. Tonight, she realized: Fen’harel had them taught how to read. He gave them freedom and safety, provided them with knowledge. He gave them so much, cared so greatly. How had his story been twisted so cruelly? He who had done nothing but shown compassion in all the time she had known him? 

_‘That is hardly relevant to your task.’_

A thought for later, a question to ask the Well once they had returned to where they belonged. She stepped further into the library, past the outer chamber and into the innermost one where the eluvian stood tall. She searched the shelves as she walked. She passed many who greeted her with pleasant nods rather than deep bows to which she returned with a nod of her own. 

Her search provided little material that she had not already read,, a stack of three books held firmly in her arms as she approachedtable, unoccupied by any other. She spread the books before her, opening each one as she delved for knowledge, for something that would allow her to weave a spell of her own, to twist time to her will and to send her where she desired, with her life still intact.

It was a heavy demand to meet, according to the theories which were nothing more than that.

Time ticked by as she read, the Elvhen writing grew harder to read as her concentration wavered. The words blurred between the common tongue and the ancient script, the Well unable to hold the translations for as long as she would have liked. Her hand pinched the bridge of her nose to fight the migraine that tormented her as she continued to push forward.

Relief came in the form of complete darkness as a hand covered both of her eyes, and forced her to relax.

“For someone who is about to learn how to read, you are stubborn. A simple subject would be easiest.” Fen’harel spoke, his lips against her ear. She shivered and his lips curled into a smile.

“Yes, but, I have my reasons.”

His hand uncovered her eyes while the other placed a book before her. The other three she had begun to scavenge through were closed, gently, and stacked to the side before he took the seat closest to her. She watched him, curious and he met her gaze with his own. The book he placed before her was opened, blank pieces of paper extracted along with a stylus for writing.

The wolf placed those beside the book before he leaned in closer, fingers teasing along the title page. Her eyes skimmed the title, the text of the page larger and easier to read, each character spaced to give the reader better understanding. A book meant for a child. The Well provided translation, her snort of laughter escaped. Her amusement brought a smile to the man’s lips, wry as it was.

“I take it that you could read the title. But, did you understand it?” His finger indicated the first character, her gaze drawn to where he indicated, the first character twisted, shifting into the title before the Well stopped and allowed her to look upon it with her own eyes, without interference.

The Keeper had known more of the writing than she, but she had not been deemed ready to learn the written language as the First. The conclave came and interrupted those plans as she was sent to observe. No further opportunity came to learn of the language of her people, where she could have asked Solas but the thought had not crossed her mind.

The corner of her lip tugged downwards before she relented and shook her head. “I don’t know what they mean combined.” And it was harder to explain she had only the translations of what the words meant in her head, in a tongue he didn’t know.

“Interesting.” He drew the papers from before her and began to write out each letter of their written word, careful lines and curves composed each one. Elegant and extravagant, the strokes he made on the paper held her attention, the explanations and pronunciations he spoke in a hushed tone drowned out all other sound. “Repeat what I did, and say each one.” 

She took the stylus he offered her, her hand shook with nerves that had no reason to exist, to haunt her as they did. Fen’harel took her hand in his, a silent support to steady her hand but he let her guide the motions. She finished once, and he prompted her to repeat. He did not hold her hand a second time, but she stood steady this time. The curves and sweeps of each letter brought elation for each completion, he spoke soft compliments upon each completion of one. He guided her when she failed on the others.

“Har’enaste did say you were quick to learn.” He chuckled, the same one that had drawn her attention when they first met.

“You’ve seen me reading, it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how.” 

“You’re being modest, ma da’sa.”

When the basics were done, he moved in closer and prompted her to read the book, out loud. It was a slow process, frustrating, but she pushed through. He guided her on the words she didn’t know, and did not judge her harshly when he did. Ellana did not feel the tugs of embarrassment for her ineptitude, did not feel like a child beneath his gentle guidance. They came to a stop when he was satisfied with her progress, satisfied that she only stumbled on the more complicated of words.

Fen’harel extracted himself first, his smile pleased, content as Solas had when she asked him questions. It was that secret smile he had reserved only for her, in a time not yet upon them.Her heart fluttered all over again for each one.

“I will see you for another lesson tomorrow.” He promised softly, “you should get some rest.”

He departed, leaving her alone to her thoughts. And when she finally left, the books remained where they left them, “The Tale of the Wolf and the Halla”sat above the theories of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enansal's age is rather vague because he hasn't actually given me one to work with. For now? He is young. Fen'allan's age was roughly older than Ellana's when she first started out, but not too greatly. And as she progressed, she became older but with aging being so different, she is likely considered around a teen.
> 
> As far as physiology goes, perhaps that's something also influenced by the longer lifespans, changed by the "quickening", when it comes.


	8. Bel'dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took much longer than I had intended it to. Life simply didn't agree with me this week, my schedule was all over and I wouldn't have been able to manage if I didn't allow myself to sleep. But, on a positive note for the delay: I have drafts written for up to chapter 13, so hopefully I can type and edit all the other chapters a lot more quickly than I had with this one.
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone so so so much for all the kind words left on the last chapter and all previous chapters. Your kind words really do encourage me to keep going, and they always brighten my day. I've been moved to tears more times than I can say for the comments I have received. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can't say it enough!
> 
> And, I did receive a question on whether or not I have a tumblr. I figured I would note here that you can find me at: http://anonymous-inquisitor.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'll track the tag "sulena" so you can tag me in things (anonymous inquisitor pulls up a lot in the search).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, everyone, and I hope you enjoy!

Morning’s greetings came as a quiet knock upon the door; Sul’assan entered the room as quietly as possible, the rustling of her clothing an indicator that she had entered for no other would enter without announcing themselves or without Ellana’s confirmation. The woman rolled over to greet the girl, a tired smile upon her lips as she did so. Sul’assan spoke no greetings, her hands occupied by a tray filled with an assortment of breakfast foods. She smiled, however, bright enough to convey her greetings.

The girl settled the tray near the bed, and bowed her head once before she took a step back.

“Is everything okay, Assan?” Ellana asked but Sul’assan merely shook her head and held a finger to her lips, a smile still in place. It was a playful, mischievous sort of smile that rarely crossed the girl’s lips. 

Sul’assan gestured at the tray before she bowed low and departed from the room without a single word. Ellana could only stare after her, confused and concerned. The tray became her immediate focus as she sat up and pulled it to the bed and over her lap. 

A note sat neatly folded between the trays. Further confusion tugged at her, but intrigue dominated as she pulled it from where it rested and opened it gently.

_‘Mistress,_

_Master Fen’harel says that you have begun to learn how to read. I wanted to help in some way, so for this morning’s messages, I have written them for you._

_Bel’dare has requested that you wear clothes more suited for combat, the stronger leathers in the wardrobe should be enough. He will be there to fetch you for your lessons a candlemark after I depart. He also warns that this training should be more difficult._

_Please enjoy your breakfast._

_We will see you for dinner._

_Sul’assan’_

Ellana chuckled as she folded the note closed once more, tucking it carefully beneath the pillows on her bed. The girl was endearingly sweet, always helping her in some manner or another. She cared for her greatly, far more than Ellana had expected anyone to in this time. Even the meal Sul’assan had chosen was an array of the foods that Ellana had favored above the rest.

Meat from creatures whom held names unfamiliar, cheese that was firm to the touch but creamy when bitten, strange fruits that did not stand the test of time, all carefully arranged on the tray for her with a loving care. It made her feel less alone in those times when she longed for what she had once taken for granted, a time amongst people she had grown to care for. She took her time to indulge on the care which she had been given, enjoying each carefully cut piece. 

She would be ruined for the food of her own time when she returned, unable to replicate the flavors she experienced.

With the plates cleared, Ellana gathered them neatly before she returned the tray to the place Sul’assan had initially settled it. She rose from the bed, the floor cold beneath her feet, a shiver drawn from the contact before she swiftly stepped towards the wardrobe. From within, she removed a set of the recommended leathers, colored a dark brown; an odd bland shade amongst the colors he had chosen for her alongside the outfits of pure white. 

She dressed quickly, pulling up carefully woven leather pants that cut off just above the knee. The bodice required the most effort, the bands of leather were carefully woven around her torso before a wave of magic drew it in and hardened it into armor. It akin to the armor the Dalish hunters wore, akin to the armor that her clan had worn, and she had worn on occasion. This was further accentuated when she drew over a tunic colored, an earthy green, that hung loosely over her armor that she bound around her waist to keep it in place. 

Nostalgia tugged once more at her heart, her memories, her longings and her regrets. 

She shook them from her, however, as she began to bind the arch of her feet with leather and wound the leather that would serve as coverings for her feet and legs upwards. It was nice to not wear the shoes the humans had insisted she wear, and she was thankful that the ancient elves did not seem as fascinated with footwear as the humans were.

As she bound off the final wrapping, a knock sounded at the door; it indicated the end of her time alone, the end of leisure that fled in the wake of the day truly beginning. 

Ellana approached the door and opened it with an assured touch.

Bel’dare stepped through with no hesitation, pausing only to bow low in greeting. When he rose, she saw the chipper smile upon his lips; a far cry of the nickname she had given him upon their first meeting. 

“Fen’allan,” he hailed her, this time, with words as his arm extended for hers, “I hope you’re ready for today’s lesson. Har’enaste said you surprised him.” 

“I don’t know how,” she muttered as her arm slipped around his, “we were out until just past dinner.”

“And that is precisely how you’ve surprised him.” The sentinel grinned wider as he turned to guide her from her room, “Many take weeks, months even, trying to get to the progress you made. And you’ve had no training.”

Ellana bit her tongue. She couldn’t speak of the lessons taught to her in her youth, lest the guise she wore be destroyed. Instead, she managed a smile that touched on meek and uncertain. 

“It’s likely because you’re Fen’harel’s creation,” he continued, “but my lesson should be a true challenge, even for a god’s creation.”

His confidence in himself brought another smile to her lips, “and, if I surprise you, you promised to tell me how you came to serve Fen’harel.”

The sentinel on her arm laughed loudly, freely, as he placed his hand upon hers and patted it gently. “I did make such a promise. Very well, Fen’allan, your challenge is accepted.”

Once more, he lead her down their previous path, through the garden. Today, he did not slow his pace to accommodate leisurely viewing, focused instead on reaching their destination. Ellana did not resist the pace he set, quick, determined and overly eager to get to where they would train. They passed others who wandered the garden, a difference between the previous day. They greeted them with nods, respectful but not overly so, as they passed by. Their pace did not give time for the formality the lower bow usually entailed.

As they approached the courtyard, more of the Temple’s residents became visible, gathered about and chattering as they waited for something. All eyes turned to them as they stepped out into the stone foundation and all chatter ceased, even the sounds of nature seemed to stop. 

Bel’dare released her arm and turned to face her, lips curled into a delighted grin before he glided, backwards, away from her with a swift-footed assurance. The sounds, already quiet, dulled further as a barrier rose up and around them, made evident by the way their surroundings had distorted if the sound was not indication enough. 

“Stop me!” Bel’dare called, voice childish and bright.

“ _What?_ ”

“Stop me!”

It was the only warning she had before she felt the magic in the air ripple in response, drawn in and dancing to the song of his magic, the beginning of a spell luring it in but only that far. She pulled her own magic forward, twined with spirit energy to form a barrier around herself as quickly as she could. The heat of flames rushed over her as fire exploded around her, close but not quite aimed at her. 

“Wonderful barrier!” He praised, that grin still firmly in place as he danced further away from her.

With no true plan, she surged forward through the flame he had called, the barrier taking the brunt of it. More flames burst forth before her, determined to stop her in her tracks and remove the barrier she had crafted quickly. She moved through the first spark, danced around the second and stepped into the third. She pulled forth another barrier before she pushed her mana forward.

As she had learned yesterday, Har’enaste had stopped her magic with his will alone.

Her magic clashed against his, a solid wall versus the fluidity that the other man had presented. She found no cracks, no holes as she pushed herself forward alongside her magic. His suddenly flared against hers as more flames were cast, pushing back in an effort to stave off her assault. The proximity of the flame to her feet cost her footing and lost her ground as she drew back and fell. Caught only by her arms, cheeks burned red as the flames that now surrounded her and kept her at bay.

Bel’dare watched, eyes darkened with determination but he did not move to assist her. 

The fight was not over until she surrendered. 

Ellana did not persist on a futile assault, her will and magic weaker against his. She lifted her hands in surrender, “care to tell me how I’m supposed to stop you?”

“You’re not. But, you did have a good idea of what you should do. And your first response was wonderful as well. I didn’t expect you to weave a barrier so quickly.” The flames were killed as he began his approach, a hand extended for hers. “Har’enaste said you left yourself open for assault in his lessons, I wondered how you’d respond to an attack on your physical form.”

“And?”

“Better than expected. Your physical barrier is better than your inner defenses, and your mental one appears to be sound as well.” As her hand settled in his, he pulled her up as if she was weightless and righted her. “Though, that is hardly enough to surprise me. We’ll start on your training now.”

Her hand remained in his as he lead her to the center of the courtyard. He continued to speak as they moved, “your barrier is evenly spread, surprisingly. Many struggle with an even distribution of their defenses, and it’s crafted quite nicely.” 

Once he was satisfied with their positioning, he gestured for her to sit. “Just like this, you can manipulate your mana; your magic to have similar properties in blocking anyone you don’t want invading from doing so. Sharing your mana tends to be saved for more intimate relationships, pooling your power together with another’s.”

Ellana merely nodded as Bel’dare lowered himself to sit across from her, legs crossed and spine straight. His hands rested upon his knees, drawing her to mimic his posture. 

“To find a sentinel who has not been trained in this is dangerous for themselves and those whom they serve with.” He continued, pausing for effect or for her commentary. Not a word drifted from her lips, her silence respectful of his desire to teach. With an incline of his head, and a pleased smile upon his lips, he continued. 

“We’ll begin with a barrier. As you twist the energies about you to form the physical barrier, twist your magic inwards to mimic the same. Weave a wall of your willpower to block intruders.” He gestured for her to do so, his gaze intent upon her while she felt his mana push lightly against hers, waiting, watching, observing on all levels.

It was easy enough to manipulate the spirit energies again, to weave a barrier about herself but the inner workings of herself resisted. Her will and magic stubbornly resisted twisting in a way that was unnatural.

“You said sentinels… Does that mean only they learn this technique?” Ellana asked, distant.

“Technically speaking? Yes.”

“I’m being trained as a sentinel?”

“No, Fen’allan, but to have you spend time alongside the gods and at Fen’harel’s side without the proper defenses? That would be dangerous to more than just yourself.”

“Considering how many do not favor him, it would make sense.”

The barrier around her dropped through no will of her own, her own energies refused to twist and weave as easily as the barrier she had woven. Her lips pressed tightly together before Bel’dare leaned forward, a smile upon his lips.

“Though, you have surprised me with your observations.”

“Enough to have you tell me?” Again, she wove the barrier around herself while she attempted to do as she had been instructed. Again, it did not move as she wanted, did not form around her in a protective manner. It swayed, but did not lock together. She groaned audibly before both the barrier and her mana slipped from her control. “I don’t think I’ll get this today. I’m normally one for a frontal assault instead boosting my defenses constantly.”

“Normally?” The sentinel pressed, curious.

“I mean… I picture that’s how I would handle a fight. I’ve been considering since training began.”

Bel’dare’s gaze held a skepticism that she could not blame him for dawning. It faded the instant he laughed, hearty and full, without restraint. “Maybe you should be training as a sentinel with that sort of mindset. I’ll mention it to Fen’harel.”

His lips curled into a smile, reminiscent of his laughter. Heat flooded her cheeks, unbidden, as they colored a shade of red for her slip. She dared not to say another word, dared not to slip again. The man’s hands extended for hers as Har’enaste had in her previous lesson.

“You’ll get it. Let me show you how.”

It was no question, yet he hesitated before she placed her hands in his.

“Thank you.” 

His guard dropped, his mana reached for hers and she felt _exposed_. His magic twisted and twined with hers, loose enough to guide without tangling. The touch of his magic, cold like the air just before the first snow fall, brought a shiver that she could not resist. His touch was different from Har’enaste’s, younger, youthful, but controlled in a way that the other man had failed to achieve. It was different, to feel the touch of other’s magics against her own.

He had said it was intimate, but, in this setting she could not see how it would be.

“Follow after me.” 

His magic lead with his words, weaving and twisting together, leading the way in this demonstration that she vainly attempted to follow. He did not force his will to follow, instead, coaxed along a path he intended for it to take. Hers followed, easing into the motions with a gentle coax. Her heart fluttered, unnerved and jolted suddenly. Excitement pushed but he pulled back, coaxing her again to follow his lead.

It became a barrier that surrounded her, tangible but intangible, found by only those who would seek to penetrate what they should not. 

He pulled back once the task was done, her barrier there but fleeting, fragile, temporary. But it was there, and she could recall the motions needed to repeat the result.

His hands pulled from hers next, cautious. The work they achieved fell apart at the seams once he was fully pulled from her. His eyes held a silent urging for her to repeat, to do it on her own. She wavered, her magic suddenly seemed immature, incapable, incompetent against his. Timidly, she wove her magic along the path he had shown her, tightened the loose ends and held it together. His magic pushed against hers before his lips curled upwards yet again.

“Good.” He praised, and it crumbled.

“You helped. I’m not good at this…”

“Don’t diminish your accomplishment. It is a step, the first of many.”

He rose, his hands guided her to stand as he did. He drew her close, tucked her arm into his again and lowered the barrier that had surrounded them. More had gathered in the courtyard, now, standing about the fading barrier. Some scattered the moment it faded from view while others remained, watching still.

Heat flooded her again as she clenched the sentinel’s arm tightly.

“Did they see? Were they watching the whole time?”

“Yes, and some most likely did. And they go now to spread the word of Fen’harel’s talented creation.”

“Why? I haven’t accomplished anything, I can’t even do… This,” she waved her free hand in the air, “on my own.”

“Yes, however, you’ve done quite well. Let them be proud of their god.”

Bel’dare’s hand encompassed hers once more, a gentle pat meant to soothe followed before he guided her from the courtyard. The path he lead her down was unfamiliar, heading adjacent to the temple rather than back inside. They wandered past more stone wolves that stood guard. His pace was leisurely to allow her to view their surroundings as he had the day before. She indulged, taking in the sights unfamiliar.

“Where are we going?” She wondered out loud rather than linger in the silence brought by discomfort.

“On a walk, I owe you a story.”

“I doubt that my performance was surprising. I’ve earned no such story."

“Ah, but you did surprise me. Take the gift without complaint, da’len. You will wound others by refusing gifts so openly.”

Ellana chuffed,friendly and without annoyance for the name he had called her. Her tongue was held from any further protests of his gift he intended to give her, instead, gesturing for him to continue with her silence promised in that alone.

“I told you that I got into a fight with Fen’harel, but you do need to understand the context of the fight.” He began easily, the lilt of his voice taking the rhythm of their leisurely steps. “This was long ago, just after Fen’harel ascended into his godhood.” He paused in words only, his gaze suddenly intent upon her as she observed their setting.

Her eyes fixated upon him instead of the trees with crystal spires, instead of the leaves that swayed in the gentle breeze. Bel’dare became her center and he waited. Her lips curled into a smile before he nodded and continued. No interruptions, and she would speak none.

“He was alone when we met, alone in the fact that no gods nor his recently obtained followers were around. I was a little younger than two hundred or so. I was upset, I couldn’t tell you why but I called him a false god among the true ones. You see, he was known to have ties to the Old Ones before he ascended and they would approach him frequently while they neglected the other gods.”

Bel’dare’s gaze grew distant as he spoke, drawn into the memory he spoke of. Ellana took lead, seamlessly guiding his steps along the path he had previously set. He did not acknowledge the shift aside from his pace changing to match her smaller gait.

“I did not see why he was elevated among all the others. And I let him know my displeasure. He gave me this grin, so full of himself, so wicked… Before he struck me. We fought, simply put, and he won. I gave him my life and he took me as the first of his sentinels.”

“Then, why are you so loyal to him?”

“As one ages, you see the foolishness of your youth. And, Fen’harel has done more to earn my loyalty than any other. I wear his vallaslin with pride.”

“I see,” Ellana inclined her head, low but not quite a bow. “Thank you for sharing, Bel’dare.”

His laughter became another constant, grin returning as he stepped from memories to where he stood now. “That’s all? I had expected you to ask me what else he’s done to earn my loyalty.”

“Perhaps another time, maybe after our next lesson?” 

“Wonderful, I will be sure to make it harder to surprise me in the nest lesson. I will be expecting your questions.”

Silence crept upon them, sweeping them into the comfort of its embrace as the continued down the path unfamiliar to her. The silence did not hold them long, broken by the sound of a soft song that danced upon the breeze and through the air to meet them. The melody was sorrowful, haunting, the words incoherent in the distance that drew Ellana’s attention. She turned to find the source, their walk halted in that movement alone. 

Bel’dare tensed and released her slowly, his arm freed of her. 

“It seems the sing bird has realized her freedom to sing.” His voice held an odd, distant fondness. He gestured, her attention drawn to where Sul’assan worked beneath a canopy that stood amongst many others. 

“What’s over there?” She pressed, her hand reaching for him as she spoke. He caught her hand with his own, held her in place but did not allow her to draw him in for her questions.

“The crafters have an area to work, there are other such canopies, as you can see. Each holds a different craft. We have many who have such skills, and Fen’harel has given them a place to work.” He bowed low, fingers curled about hers for a brief moment, lingering before he released her entirely. “I should report your progress. I will see you another time, Fen’allan.”

He departed, taking the path previously tread. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magic is something that I find interesting in the Dragon Age universe. To what extent do they have control of their magic? I read through the World of Thedas again and looked at what was "impossible" and what wasn't. I've twisted this to suit my needs, you could say. 
> 
> Though, in this time, I think some of the "impossible" is possible, to an extent. I've not touched on all of that, though, and I'm not sure Ellana will get the chance to fully explore the possibilities.


	9. Sul'assan

Ellana stepped from the path, her feet carried her across the plush green grass to where Sul’assan stood beneath the canopy, diligent in her work. Her gaze remained focused, shoulders slightly hunched as she worked. Her song resumed, a new song that spun a tale of sorrow, of a love lost too soon. She found herself impressed by the girl’s focus, the fact that she was not pulled so easily from her work. Not wanting to interrupt, but curious, she stepped beneath the canopy and stood at the edge, close enough to see but far enough so not to draw attention to herself. 

Sul’assan worked ironbark, as stubborn as it was, with ease. The form it took at her coaxing almost appeared natural, as if it desired to bend to the girl’s whims. Not even the best crafter of her clan had managed to make the wood listen as intently as this girl before her had. It was fascinating, another enchantment of this time. 

Ellana forced her gaze away from the work in progress, only to catch sight of the finished products that rested near by. Carefully woven shafts that made up the body of the arrows were carved with shapes she could not make out from the distance. Upon the ends were feathers of soft blues, worked into their place carefully, almost seamlessly. They all rested in a quiver of leather, simple in appearance, meant to serve a purpose rather than hang as an accessory. 

The song came to an end, as sorrowful as it had begun and she found herself missing the sound. Her lips tugged into a smile, despite the sorrow that lingered, watching the girl with a curious interest. Sul’assan turned, only to pause as she caught sight of the interloper whom lingered at the edge, respectful but invading all the same.

“Mistress.” She gasped, cheeks colored red up to the pointed tips of her ears. “I-- You-- Are your lessons finished already?”

The stuttered greeting drew concern from Ellana, though she held her tongue lest she drive the girl away in her embarrassment. “Yes, we were walking through and heard you singing.”

“Oh, yes. The ironbark that we have enjoys the songs. It takes shapes better when it is happy.” The color remained upon her cheeks as she turned from Ellana to finish her work, fingers carefully weaving in a feather of red to the end of the arrow. “I had hoped to be finished before your lesson ended.”

“You don’t need to rush for my sake, Assan. You should have time to yourself. I’ll leave so that you may continue.”

“No!” 

Color rapidly overtook the girl’s features as she whirled to face Ellana, the red vibrant compared to the soft touches of color previously. Her teeth worked her bottom lip for a moment before she spoke again. “I mean… You don’t need to leave. I’m almost finished.”

“I’ll stay.” Ellana promised, the smile previously that had once taken hold blossomed once more, touched with a hint of pride hidden in the lines of her smile.

With Ellana’s agreement, Sul’assan’s own smile returned before she guided herself back to her work. Intent, focused upon her task, the girl lost herself in her task. Ellana took that moment to find a seat amongst finished works, and works in progress upon a bench shielded from the elements under the canopy. Her gaze returned, again, to the work Sul’assan wove, curious of how she could craft with such skill, such finesse.

“Master Fen’harel told me something today.” Sul’assan’s voice drifted from the near silence that settled between them as she worked. Ellana was not given a chance to speak, the girl’s hesitation only a fraction of a moment before she spoke again. “He told me that he did not take me away from June to keep me as a slave.”

“And… You didn’t know this? How long have you been here?”

“Only a few months. I had thought it odd, the way he treated me. The way he had insisted that I was free to decide. The others talked back to him, called him names. I…” Sul’assan hesitated as she worked, her hands stilled in an echo of the words that did not follow. She remained frozen, lost in the memory, the thoughts of what had once transpired. “I had thought he had finally found use for me when he asked me to tend to you, because he never commanded me to make arrows.”

The girl turned to face her, eyes bright while her smile was a dim mockery of the ones that were a commonplace upon her lips. “And I _do_ enjoy this task, please don’t get me wrong. It’s never been a job. It’s as if I have a sister.”

Silence held Ellana, words refused to surface, breath refused to be released in fear that she would cut the girl’s vocalization of her findings short. 

“Master Fen’harel said I may craft arrows for whom I wish, when I wish. He said that I may take a new name, if I wish. He said he would remove June’s vallaslin.” She continued, her hands once more a reflection of her voice. The final touches of the arrow she held were completed as she spoke, tucking in a feather of red instead of the soft blue of before. “I am thankful for all that he’s given me, even if I had not realized it previously, so I have decided that I will take his vallaslin, like many of those in the Temple wear.”

The final arrow was placed in the quiver amongst the others, the red a vibrant beacon amongst them all. Sul’assan turned to face Ellana, the quiver cradled in her hands so gently, so caring. She strode forward, purposeful in her movements before she lowered herself to present the quiver to her. 

“I made these for you, Fen’allan.”

Ellana’s heart clenched tightly in her chest, breath came short at the gift made for _her_. Her hands lifted, placed upon the girl’s gently, hesitant. 

“ _Thank you_ , Assan. This… I don’t know what more to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I made these because I desired to, because I could.” Her smile was again radiant, bright, without worry. Her smile was _free_. “Did you want me to teach you? We should have a bow that would fit you, and there are targets set.”

It had been so long since she had used a bow, so long since she had joined the hunters of her clan. And, there had been no reason for her to take up a bow when she had become the human’s Herald. Less time was afforded to her when she became the Inquisitor, her free time spent doing things other than wielding the weapon with nothing to hunt. 

Sul’assan’s eagerness, however, was more than enough reason to say yes.

“If you’d like.”

She was rewarded with that smile, curled upwards to the point where it could spread no further. It touched her eyes, not soft nor subtle, but blatant and shining through without hesitation. Ellana smiled in return as the girl turned from her, to the rack of bows that stood near by. She examined them all, before she picked one made of wood colored white. She measured it against Ellana from the distance, eyes careful before she nodded her approval.

“This way, mistress,” Sul’assan called, voice melodic with a song lingering on her tongue.

“You don’t need to call me that, now.”

“I don’t, but, I want to.”The girl’s smile twisted, a touch of rebellion laced in those lines. Freedom entitled to her to do as she pleased, and she ran with it. “I also need to teach you about the arrow as well.”

“The arrow?”

“Yes, the one that I colored red.” 

Ellana nodded as she rose from the bench she had settled upon. The quiver was held close, like a precious treasure rather than slung over her shoulder as intended with the strap. She walked to where Sul’assan stood, patient. Once she was at the girl’s side, they stepped away from the canopy and further into the area where the crafters worked. Targets stood within range of the area they had occupied, their purpose for testing the new arrows and forged bows.

“The red one is an arrow that sings, so you mustn’t use it unless it’s an emergency. An arrow that sings can disrupt the flow of magic in an area, bringing it to a halt, leaving those in range of the singing vulnerable. It’s temporary, of course, but the time that it lasts tends to vary on the arrow…” Sul’assan explained as they walked. “If you injure someone with the arrow but it does not pierce the flesh, the effects are contained to disrupt the song of the one who has been hit. And… Should you embed the arrow in their flesh, the risks of poisoning them is high. It turns their song against them, their magic volatile and they may be torn apart from the inside…”

Ellana felt her feet freeze, halted by the words that made her blood run cold. The red arrow shone through, her gaze intent upon it. Fen’harel’s acquisition of the Arrow Singer was no coincidence. The arrows rattled, her hands shook before she could stop herself.

Small hands encompassed hers, steadying her with a gentle touch, grounding her with their presence.

“Why did you make one for me?”

“Because… I worry you may need it. And, because you are important to me as well. Enansal honors you with his silence and I wish to show you the same.”

“I… You’re doing so much. I don’t…” Her throat clenched as her heart did before, tears burned and gripped her tightly. She spoke with wavering emotion, the girl who had woven herself so firmly into her heart continued to do so. “I don’t deserve such gifts.”

The hands upon her’s held firm, gentle and soothing, familial to the touch.

“Then, think of it as a precautionary measure. Think of it as a sister who worries of her younger one, and wants to keep her safe but still allowing her to grow on her own.”

Laughter came, soft and wrought with emotion. “If you are worried, then… I’ll accept them. Thank you.”

Sul’assan’s smile remained in place, her hands still a grounding point. She guided her further, stopping only when they reached their destination before the targets. 

“I am, you won’t always be in the Temple.”

As they came to a halt, they stood a distance away from the targets. Ellana’s hands were freed, the quiver slung properly over her shoulder before Sul’assan guided the bow into her hands, before she guided her into a proper stance. Further, she was guided into the proper steps, careful, precise. An arrow drawn, notched upon the bow. The first flew, becoming a second and a third, and a few more until Sul’assan was satisfied with the progress made.

Old, forgotten, knowledge made it easier. Relearning what she had known once before, the steps became easier as she walked them once again. The girl stepped back, leaving her to her own devices. Another arrow was drawn, notched and set to fly without guidance of another. Her fingers drew back the string while she aimed, gaze focused upon the center of the target. A breath drawn, exhalation only coming when the arrow slipped from her grasp.

It flew forward, wavered and fell short of the target entirely.

The tips of her ears burned red and soft words of assurance came from behind her. Again, Sul’assan stepped in and corrected any flaws of her previous attempt, giving gentle reminders as she repositioned her. She could take her own spin on things when she was able to hit the target in the method she had been shown.

As she notched the next arrow, her breath again held firm until the arrow flew forth once more. It flew straight and true, the next attempt. It struck the edge of the target, barely lodged into it but it had been progress.

A cheer cut through the cheers of the girl beside her and the silent reassurance that she could do better in the next draw of her arrow. Both turned to the intruder whom boldly cut through their moment, unashamed. Fen’harel stood near by, lips curled upwards as he approached, bold and cocky.

“An accomplished shot, ma da’sa.” He praised, approval laced in every fiber of his being.

“Wasn’t it, master Fen’harel?” Sul’assan cut in before Ellana could speak, the heat upon her cheeks burned with a sudden intensity.

“Thank you.” Ellana managed amidst their praise, “Was there something you came for?”

“Am I not allowed to walk around my own Temple now?” Fen’harel teased, coaxing the flame upon her cheeks to burn hotter. “I tease, da’sa. I came to see the Singer of Arrows, but it seems that isn’t entirely necessary.”

“It’s not? What was it that you needed, master Fen’harel?”

“You’ve already done so. I had wanted to see if you would be interested in making some arrows for Fen’allan.” The god paused, his gaze fixated upon Ellana, determination etched into those blue eyes of his. “Wouldn’t a moving target prove to be a more interesting challenge, da’sa?”

A clap broke through before Ellana could reply, the small hands of Sul’assan’s clasped firmly together. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll start on the preparations and have Fen’allan’s things ready for a hunt.” She bowed low, excitement wrapped up around her, her steps light as she broke away from them and glided back to the Temple.

Ellana watched the departing form of the girl before her gaze settled on the wolf who stood tall, excited, pleased. “Are we simply hunting?”

“More or less, da’sa. It will be a good lesson, to have you exposed outside of the Temple in a place that poses less of a threat to you. It will further your training.”

“Threats linger in the forest, then?”

“Nothing that you won’t be able to handle. Har’enaste and Bel’dare thought you would be fine starting out in the simplicity of the forest. We will see how you fare there and then decide where your lessons will go from there.” His hand lifted for hers, patient but insistent. “I will be there to assist, should you need it.”

His grin spread upon his, wider still, fueled by her hesitation.

Ellana carefully slipped her hand into the one extended, his fingers curled about her smaller hand and drew her in. Guided to his side, her tucked her in close and lead her away from the targets, to the path that lead into the Temple.

“Would you like to join me for a hunt, Fen’allan?”

He asked, though the plans were already in place. Her lips curled into a smile, unbidden though unresisted. “Yes, since you feel that it’s necessary.”

“We’ll depart in the morning.”

The wolf was excited for the hunt.

And, she was curious to see yet another side of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in the chapters. I ended up editing this one a few times until the flow sounded better.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, everyone. Your kind words are such a great encouragement. I do hope to have the next chapter up sooner!


	10. Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to follow this story as I progress. I thank you all for your patience at my erratic attempts at trying to get out updates. This week was particularly unkind. Hoping for the next week is a little more kind.
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone for continuing to read. I cannot put into words how much I love hearing from everyone.
> 
> Please enjoy this next chapter! It was a doozy to write, but, in a good way.

Untouched by mortal hands, the forest sang with life unlike any woods she had ever stepped foot within. It was shaped purely by the resident’s whims rather than those who would choose shapes convenient to them, carving pathways and disrupting the natural order. Without this outside influence, the trees grew tall, leave and pine vibrant greens or deep shades of emerald. They swayed in the wind, a mimicry of breathing while wisps danced within their branches without reserve, as if the Veil could not hold them back from the song of this world. 

Species of animals, ones lost to her time, hid brashly in plain sight, unafraid of the hunters with arrows upon their backs. It was as if they knew that it was not yet their time, as if Falon’din, himself, had whispered the secrets of their death in their ears, that death would not embrace them, this day.

It had taken a day to breach the inner parts of the forest from the Temple, traveling by feet alone rather than rely on mounts who would need to be tended to. Who would likely draw attention to them by hungry predators that would take advantage of a stationary, docile target. 

Fen’harel had found a site to place their camp upon their arrival, the path lit by flames he had held in his palm. The spot he had chosen sat beside the river, downwind and hidden amongst the fallen trees, where heavily scented flowers had bloomed from the fallen. The flowers masked their scent, he insisted, before he began to set the wards while she placed the furs and dug a makeshift fire pit. They slept shortly after, consuming rations packed by Sul’assan before they had left.

Ellana stood at the edge of the camp, morning upon them once more. She watched the wisps, playful and cree, that slipped in and out of her sight without restraint. They teased at the barrier of the wards, a game of who could get the closest to her and the barrier before they would dart away again.

They were curious, the spirits whom appeared before her, holding no virtue nor sin, nothing they aspired to. The Veil was weak here, or there were holes that only allowed those who no calling, no purpose, to slip through.

Though, the greatest curiosity was the one whom had been called “He Who Hunts Alone” by here people. He was not so alone, and wouldn’t have been without a handful of his hunters had he not convinced them that it was an expedition that needed as few people as possible for his creations’ training. He was no lone wolf, he had a pack. Loyal, devoted, unwavering… Yet somehow --

“Da’sa, it should be safe enough for you to wander. Stay within my aura, should you wish to hunt away from the camp.”

She turned to face him, and saw the grin Fen’harel wore. It was softer, more at ease among the trees. 

“You look ready to run.” He added from where he sat, lounging upon his furs.

And she was. It had been so long since she had truly had her feet upon the Earth, too long since she had been bound by human beliefs, held by human standards and expectations. Placed under the flag of a human god that she did not worship, and she was free, for now. 

“You’ve yet to tell me what Andruil has granted us permission to hunt.”

 “And if you had started to run, I would have called it after you,” his eyes danced with a playful decadence, lips twisted into a familiar mischief. “You, again, show knowledge that you shouldn’t know. Har’enaste didn’t relay that he had gone into such depth in his lessons.”

She hesitated at his accusation, the corners of her lips pulled upwards into a smile that mocked his, mimicking the one that so constantly settled upon his. “I heard it elsewhere.”

The grin he wore did not waver in the wake of her answer, her small truth. It was no denial of his accusation, no avoidance in answers.

“Everything but the halla is fair game.”

As if the restraints holding her broke at the end of his statement, she slipped through the wards and into the woods. Her toes dug into the soft dirt beneath them, twisted into grass and moss that haphazardly covered the ground. She breathed deep, took in the scents of the forest.

She felt free, held by by no problems or worries, the ones that she held constantly were pushed back for this moment, forgotten. She dropped the mask of Fen’harel’s creation, shedding the layers that held together her facade. She allowed herself to be _Ellana Lavellan_ ; Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, the only member and Keeper of Clan Lavellan. Titles she both loathed and held close to her heart.

Movement, caught by the sound of rustling bushes, pulled her attention and caught her eye. She wated, breath drawn in and held. Again, the bushes moved and she crept forward while one hand drew an arrow from her quiver. She notched it in place, drawing the string back as her feet guided her along the foliage, careful not to draw attention to herself.

A hare hopped into sight, fur as black as a night where there was no moon nor stars. Eyes burned a red that threatened to consume, as hot as untamed flame. A familiar chill ran down her spine, fear’s caress an unwelcome advance from a stranger.

The hare met her gaze, those eyes intelligent before it hopped a few paces away, coaxing her forward. It faced her again, those eyes defiant. It dared her to free her arrow, dared her to bring an end. Her fingers twitched the moment she exhaled, the moment she allowed the arrow to fly. And it flew true.

It struck without remorse, between the eyes that had mocked her. The life of the hair ended without so much as a gasp or a last desperate cry.

“Strange,” she lowered the bow from the aimed position and slung it over her shoulder once more. “Perhaps Andruil enchants the creatures that she gives permission to hunt?”

She strode forward to collect her kill, with only a moment’s hesitation before she approached the dead hare. She lowered herself to the ground, her hand fixated around the arrow that had taken the life. Out of habit, she murmured her soft thanks to Andruil, and to June, for their participation in the hunt. Andruil for granting them permission, and June for his ability to craft the arrows, which had passed to Sul’assan.

She pulled the arrow free.

Black. 

Black colored ichor spilled from the wound rather than the deep crimson red of blood. It spewed forth without restraint, without a stop, unnaturally. It did not mimic the blood it sought to replace, it was something else entirely. It came for her and fear’s grasp took hold of her heart. Her hands were covered, even as she tried to pull back, to run.  

She fell, backwards. She attempted to fleet, but it held her tight.

Her scream died on her lips, magic refused to heed her call. Her eyes closed, her breathing became ragged.

And then, there was nothing. Ellana opened her eyes, her hands lifted for inspection and found nothing. She sat up, found the arrow at her side and took it into her hand, cautious. She looked to the hare, dead upon the ground. There was no sign of the ink colored ichor, only white fur stained red upon the hare’s head. Only blood and nothing more.

She shook, fear lingering and adrenaline faded. 

Not one to waste a kill, she made an exception for today. She pushed herself from the ground, uneasy upon her feet, and left her kill to the wolves. 

She stumbled through the woods, gaze fixated upon the path she had walked before, the subtle impressions of her feet upon the grass serving as markers to the camp. Subtle markers, when her footprints weren’t as clear, stood out more prominently in the wake of what she faced, mind sharp with fear and the determination to return to Fen’harel. 

The wards greeted her first, wisps suddenly absent from their previous places at the edge. She passed through, welcomed by a gentle buzzing of the magic against the skin. Her gaze lifted, intent on meeting the second greeting from Fen’harel, but the wolf was absent from the spot he previously lounged in. It was possible that he had been drawn by the desire to hunt as well, or he had left in search for her. 

With no energy left to drive her any further, she collapsed upon the furs spread upon the ground. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, quickly and without mercy. Sleep drew her in and she did not resist the pull, did not resist the urge to rid herself of what she had seen, to rid herself of the fear that held her.  

Dreamless, the darkness came as a comfort. 

And when she woke again, gentle hands massaged hers, familiar and unforgotten.

Ellana’s eyes opened and found blue eyes intent upon her arms while his hands continued to massage a mixture of herbs and elfroot into the skin, the scent harsh upon her nose. Her fingers twitched in his hand, muscled tensed as she tried to pull away. He held her firmly, instead, his gaze refusing to meet hers.

“We shouldn’t have come. You weren’t ready, not for this.”

She tilted her head to look at the camp instead of his face, full of emotion she did not want to face. She saw, then, the results of his hunt upon the fire pit, cooking slowly. It was a meal that was more than enough for the both of them.

“I wanted to.” She insisted, attempting to soothe with words spoken soft, timid, and unlike her.  “I just got spooked. It was my first time killing something.”

“Do not lie to me, da’sa. You show no hesitation in drawing a blade against a man, yet faint at the sight of a dead hare? No, you have never appeared that fragile. I was impatient, the fault was mine, so do not lie to soothe me.”

Ellana’s looked to him again and burned beneath the intensity of his gaze, the guilt that pulled at his features, twisting them into something she did not relish to see. She burned beneath the raw emotions, the ones that only he would show her; Pride rarely allowed his mask to drop.

“Impatient? For what?”

“Nothing,” As she had eluded him before, he did the same, poorly.

“Do not lie to me.” She returned. Regret and guilt faded into an amused smile, faint, but still upon his lips.

“I simply wanted you to be able to stand on your own. I have no desire to keep you locked up in the Temple.”

As she opened her mouth to speak again, to question further what he had meant, when there was no benefits to letting her wander freely; he interrupted her. “We will depart in the morning.”

Ellana could not protest, the decision warranted. His hands left hers, only to guide her into a seated position. Concern masked the amusement she had attempted to restore as he pulled away from her.

“Don’t use you hands for the time being. The poultice must sit for some time.” He wrapped her hands in cloth, up her forearms to just before her elbows. 

Once he was satisfied with his work, he rose and tended to the meat that cooked upon the fire. Silence settled between then as she watched his frame, the way he moved so gracefully, even when he was consumed by a guilt he tried not to show. She watched further as he took their meal from the fire and cut it into smaller portions. The silence would have been excruciating, had she not been so content to simply watch him.

He approached with the small morsels, cut so they could be eaten with little assistance. He sat down beside her, careful not to disturb her form as he did. His fingers lifted the small bit of meat to her lips, an echo of the time in his room, yet the intimacy was lacking. Desire had faded in the wake of concern. He was a wolf, tending to a member of his pack.

“I’m fine.” 

“You need to eat, Fen’allan.” He pressed the offering against her lips, insistent until she gave in.

Nausea that she had not noticed fled in the wake of the scent of the cooked meat, her stomach growled in a call of hunger that she had not felt. Her mind had neglected her body when Fen’harel had not. She gave in, and wrapped her lips around the offering. He continued, until her hunter was sated, her stomach quiet. 

“Why did you coat my arms?”

“You were covered in poison, Fen’allan… What happened?”

“I saw a hare… It was black, with eyes that burned red.”

“And so you killed it with the intention of eating it?”

“ _No._ I… Don’t know why I killed it. I felt compelled to, as if my will was not my own.” Her gaze fell to her hands, to the cloth that wrapped around them, “When I pulled my arrow from it… Blackness spewed from it. It flowed out, unlike blood. More than what that small body could hold it in and it coated my hands. I fell and when I looked back, it was a normal hare, and there wasn’t any sign of whatI had seen.”

Ellana’s hands curled, though hampered. “I couldn’t bring myself to touch it after that.”

Fen’harel’s jaw clenched, eyes darkened with a rare rage that crept into the lines of his face, The rage that she had seen so few times yet left her chilled and concerned. 

“Sleep, da’sa. I will remain at your side.” He guided her back down onto the furs, as if she was incapable of doing so herself, his concern palpable.  

He knew something, but would not speak of what she had seen. She allowed her eyes to close, her thoughts upon what he kept from her, chasing sleep away as her mind sought answers he would not likely give. 

“What have you done to Andruil to make her wage so many wars against you?”

“I’ll answer,” his voice betrayed roughish intentions, “and I will pose a question of my own.”

She felt his hands upon hers, gentle with his attention, checking over the poultice he had placed. “I refused to bed her, she whom had many suitors. She thought I, who had many lovers of my own, would be beguiled by her beauty. But, I have little interest in things that are merely pretty.”

He answered without hesitation, words ringing without dishonesty. He made no attempts to hide this story; he was far open to the idea of sharing his past than the man he would become.

Her head tilted, the tip of her nose brushed against him. His fingers brushed hair from her face, gentle as they tucked the stray hairs behind her ear.

“She had bound me to a tree, once, for hunting upon the halla without permission. She claimed I would be in her service for a year and a day. However, I tricked both her and the old one, earning my freedom from both.” He laughed, wicked, living in the afterglow of the memory and the youthfulness of himself. His laugh was free of burdens, unrestrained, not stifled and twisted into a chuckle. “She hates to lose and I always win.”

“It’s an interesting tale…” 

“And you, da’sa, will you weave me a tale? Or, will you speak truths of your Pride?”

“Mm, I have told you already, Pride does not exist.”

“But, it did once, did it not?”

“I… Yes, once, Pride did exist, in some nature.”

Silence settled, fleeting, fragile, as he gathered her hands once again. She felt a cool rag upon the skin as he washed away the mixture.

“What about it drew you in? Had it once been Wisdom, twisted to a new form? What keeps you so fixated on what no longer esists?” 

She smiled despite herself. Smile for the silence that signified the fact that he had become lost in his thoughts, smiled for the fact that he thought the one who held her heart was a spirit. Even now, even when things seemed so different, he reminded her that he was still the same.

“If you must know… Pride was _not_ always Pride. He was wise, knew much of a world I could only dream of.. He shared with me only a portion of what he knew, but he shared all the same. He held a sorrow for the world, was harsh on himself for his mistakes. I’m sure that that is what twisted him, but, I cannot say for certain. I hope that I discover what it was.”

Her eyes opened and met with blue eyes that stared back down at her, illuminated by the fire that had begun to die. His eyes held questions, barely restrained while he looked softer with the shadows upon him, with only the firelight upon him.

“He sounds more like a person than that of a spirit. Is that why you came to this world?”

“Perhaps it is.” She smiled upwards, a smile that she would wear only for him, no matter when she was. “Am I a spirit, though? Given form by your magic?”

“It would make sense, in some manner.” He paused, fingers brushed along her forehead. He soothed her with his touch, the gentle kiss of his fingertips upon her skin coaxed her eyes to close. “Even those whom were once spirits must sleep. I will be here when you wake.”

And it only felt like moments when she opened them again.

Night remained, hanging heavily in the sky. The green glow of wisps that flocked together provided light for a sky with an absent moon and stars. They glided in close, curious, whispering, as if the wards no longer held them at bay. And they fled, only a short distance away, when Ellana pushed herself up into a seated position.

Curious, she turned her gaze to watch as they drifted back and forth from the line where the ward would have stopped them. As they pressed forward again, the familiar shimmer of the ward’s protection was not there. _No_ ward had been there to begin with. She focused, instead, on the feel of her surroundings. She sat in the Fade, the transition smooth, seamless.

It was her first time in the Fade since her arrival in this time.

Curious, she took in the surroundings. It was a memory of their campsite, and aside from the missing wards, it was a near replication of where she lay her head. And, beside her, sat Fen’harel. As he promised, he remained by her side. She pressed her magic out towards him, curious if the figure was simply a image that she had woven in her dreams, meant to take the place of the man. 

He was no shadow, conjured by her desire to see him. His magic responded to hers, the essence of him familiar. She’d have been unaware if she had not spent so much time in the Fade with him as they slept side by side, or in rooms separated by stone. She’d have been unaware if she had not slipped her hand behind him to draw him in for that first kiss in Haven. 

But, this was not the same 

They shared a dream; he sat beside her but he was not truly there, lost in something akin to meditation, something she had never encountered.. 

Ellana scanned his face and found no signs of him stirring, no signs that he knew she was watching him so intently. She took in the sight of him, searching no further. She memorized the vestige of hisyouth, compared to the the features of his older self. He was smoother, cleaner, without the small lines of worry that took up residence in the the corners of his eyes. Aside from that, there was little contrast.  

Her hand lifted in her curiosity, in her desire to commit the lines of his face to memory, to engrave him further upon herself than he already was. She hesitated a moment before she crumbled; her fingers traced along the curve of his face, caressing as if he would break if she had dared to do anything more. She found the differences she had felt before, tracing the lines that were missing but prominent in the memories of him. Doubling back, she trailed the tips of her fingers along the firm structure of his jaw, to his chin where they pressed along the cleft.

She should stop.

Her fingers did not obey. They teased his lips, gently, kissing from one corner of his lips to the other as her lips had not dared to. 

His hand caught her wrist and held her there, his lips pressed a kiss to the tips of each of her fingers, the gesture returned. Flames sparked to life upon her cheeks, burning until the tips of her ears turned pink in response. She lifted her gaze from his lips, her eyes meeting blue ones. They burned, darkened with an emotion that threatened to consume her. 

Against her fingers, his lips curved into a smile, gentle, tender, the one his older self had saved for her. It shook her, just as it always had. 

The light that surrounded them grew more vibrant in the next moment, wisps drawn by the emotions between them and by their own curiosity. 

The small distance between them began to close as Fen’harel leaned in, drawing her closer by the hand he held as he drew it away from her lips. Yet, he did not overwhelm her space. He waited, his gaze upon hers, inviting, waiting only for her to make a decision. 

She closed the distance, leaning in. His lips were a breath away, the tips of their noses met in a kiss that their lips did not share. She wavered on this precipice, wavered on whether or not she would allow herself to fall again. 

Fen’harel’s mouth moved to speak; she stole the words, instead, with her lips upon his. She stole them from the tip of his tongue with a brush of her own. He leaned in closer, the hand that held hers drew her in as close as she could go,, until he settled her hand upon his waist. His other hand found her hair, twining into the locks as he lost himself in her and she in him.

They did not war so much as they cooperated; his tongue twined with hers, teasing, selfish… Greedy. And she met his demands with indulgence before imposing her own. He gave what she sought, allowing her to lean him back as they kissed. No battle was fought between them, no pushing of the borders, their meeting an introduction. He held back, youth wise enough to stay his eagerness and want for more. While she was hesitant to put her entire being into the kiss, experience holding back her want. 

And it was her that broke the kiss first, cheeks flushed, breathless. Her fingers stilled his lips with a gentle touch, replacing what she had taken away.

“We shouldn’t…” She echoed words that would one day pass between them.

He said nothing though her fingers did not enforce silence. She allowed them to drop as they held one another’s gaze. His hand followed in the wake of hers, framing her face while his thumb traced along her bottom lip.

“We should wake, da’sa.”

His lips replaced his thumb, chaste, brief, fleeting before he coaxed her to wake with a gentle push of magic.

And when her eyes opened again, shefound herself curled against Fen’harel, her back pressed to his chest while his lips pressed against her hair in a greeting.

“You surprise me.” He murmured into her hair.

 _‘And, you are a fool.’_ The Well cut in, voices wrought with disappointment rather than anger.

_I know… I know it would be kinder…_

“Is that a bad thing?” She wondered as he began to unwrap himself from her.

“Not at all, it was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise to find you in my dream.”

“I hadn’t planned on venturing into your dream. Is it so strange that I was able to? More strange than the possibility of me being a spirit?”

“Perhaps they are not so dissimilar, da’sa.”

He offered a hand to her and guided her to her feet, the gesture a subtle show of affection, blossoming as it were.

“Perhaps,” She agreed, pulling away as he did the same.

He did not deserve the heartbreak that would come if she allowed this to go any further. None of those she had met deserved the sorrow she would inflict. It would come, one way or another, upon her departure. Unless she gave up entirely, an option that was not available.  

At the very least, she could grant him the favor he would grant her; she could warn him, give him a choice in understanding nothing good would come from this. That it would be better for them to maintain a distance. 

Silence came instead of words, instead of speaking of what passed between them; he was content, pleased, even. She did not want to break this peace they had, to dim the smile that had settled on his lips. Instead, she cleaned the site of their camp. She rolled the furs, and rid the evidence of their fire pit. And when they were done, Fen’harel removed the wards that stood around the camp. 

The chill that rushed over her was instant, gripped by terror that was far from the fear of before. It was like the black claws of her nightmare had wrapped itself around her; she struggled to breathe. 

Fen’harel turned to her, his hand outstretched for hers, to draw her to his side only to freeze at the sight of her, wracked with terror.

“Fen’allan?”

“I…” The words she would use to describe what she felt caught in her throat, held back by terror.

As suddenly as the chill that held her came, she was pulled, a coaxing with a promise to soothe the sudden heat that burned from the tips of her fingers and up her arms. Pain tore through her limbs and the pull promised relief.

She swayed before the furs slipped from her hands. Fen’harel stepped forward, she stepped back. The pull tugged again, and she ran. Ran from the wolf, through the woods, at the compulsion of what called her. It overwhelmed her, intense, a pressure that began to build with each passing second. 

Fen’harel followed, given away by the sound of another behind her, recklessly pushing through the obstacles that stood between them. She did not look back, did not look to see what expression had taken hold of him, didn’t want to see what she placed there in the wake of her sudden departure. 

She led him deeper into the woods, off any path she would have known. They went deeper, until no sunlight could be seen. The pain subsided with each step into the darkness. She came to a stop when the pain faded entirely, though they felt wet upon the absence of the pain. And though darkness surrounded her, she could still see her hands that dripped with the ichor that had coated them.  

Fen’harel caught her in the next moment, his hand caught her shoulder as he forced her to stand at his side, a step behind him. 

“Tell me, wolf.” Came the voice of her nightmare. A figure materialized from the darkness, from the spark of the first spoken word. “Have you forgotten your promise?” 

“Not at all, my friend,” Fen’harel answered, smooth, as if he did not care that he had been forced into the woods against his will. As if he did not care that she had been the tool to lure him. “These things take time, I implore you to have patience. You will have what you seek.” 

“So you have said before.” The figure ventured forward, the darkness moved with it as if it were his cape. She dared to look, and saw a faceless figure. It had no eyes, and the line for its mouth only that. There was no definition, there was no life to this figure before them. “We have other means, of course. I’m sure you will come to greatly enjoy them, when you see.”

A hand, thin and skeletal reached for her, slowly. It taunted her and she flinched away while Fen’harel remained unwavering, a barrier between them. 

Fen’harel’s hand brushed against hers, subtle and hidden behind his back, in an attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. “Of course. I do so enjoy seeing your plans come to fruition.” 

“Until next time, then.” The blank faced figure focused upon Ellana. The mouth it had formed broke through the void of its face, cracked into a smile without any emotion. “I hope your pet has enjoyed her dreams. Be vigilant, dear wolf, of your things. If you don’t wish to let them slip from your grasp.” 

And then, it slipped into the darkness. Whatever stood before them faded away without the trace, freeing them of the darkness that had hidden the sun and the sky. Life returned, silence slain by soft birdsongs as they offered tentative but melodic greetings to the world.

She could breathe again. 

“Fen’harel.”

He looked to her, gaze mournful, sorrow and regret similar to what she had seen before. Similar to the moment he pulled away from her before. A hint of a smile, meant to comfort, flirted upon his lips as his gaze focused upon hers.

“I am sorry… The first time my name is upon your lips is due to this… You were not ready.” He took the blame without words putting it so plainly, hidden between the lines. 

He swept her from the ground in the next moment, away from the ichor that had pooled at her feet, away from the memory of what they had seen. She saw the smile fade as he held her close. 

“I will see you tended to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are subtle changes happening going forward that I wonder if they'll be noticed.
> 
> Additionally, this chapter has many hints in the ones to come. As things begin to unfold, I will touch on them in the chapter after, especially if no one notices the connections. There are many threads to this web and this chapter caught me unaware in the fact that the whole story was so intricately intwined.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading!


	11. Elvarel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I love and appreciate all of you who read this. I am not sure I can say it enough how much I appreciate the time that you take to read and leave comments. Each one I receive brightens my day, and really touches my heart. There are times where I have cried because you all leave such wonderful feedback and thoughts.
> 
> You all are so amazing! 
> 
> Thank you again!

Seven days and questions burned, unanswered. Fen’harel had made no promises concerning them being answered. And there had been little opportunity for her to present them to him; they had returned to the temple, only to be surrounded by sentinels, concerned by their early return. Fen’harel spoke of the poison that had afflicted her, but not of the figure they had seen. 

The sentinels sought the healers as Fen’harel saw her to her room. They were allowed only a brief moment alone, a chance to speak. Only, the healers arrived in the next. Fen’harel only spoke on the nature of the poison, the effects it had shown, and the treatment he had prepared in the woods. He spoke not of the source, or how she had made contact.

The healers treated her, gave a potion to ease her into sleep, and did not leave until she had downed it all. And when they were left alone, he came to her side. The questions on her lips remained, her mouth had opened to speak them but his lips stilled them as he presseda kiss to her forehead. Whispers of nothings brushed against her, sweet and distracting, before he drew back with a final brush of his lips to her forehead. He bid her to sleep before he left, and she did.

He did not come the next day.

The days passed slowly, without much to do but frequent the library in search for what she was beginning to deem impossible. Har’enaste had cancelled lessons at the healers’ instructions.

Sul’assan and Enansal took it upon themselves to monitor her condition, fearful that she may relapse. They stayed as a constant at her side, for the first three days, until they had been convinced that she would be fine without them. They returned to their duties, though joined her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner as much as they had been able.

Fen’harel had become like a passing breeze, drifting past her with hardly a spoken word or nod of acknowledgement. He did not come to see her, nor did he stop when he passed them in the halls. He did not stop when he passed her in the library, his eyes did not stray to her. 

It was for the best, in the end. She would have encouraged this choice of action, considering. It would hurt them less, in the end… Only, she hurt more each day. 

The eighth day dawned, heralded by Sul’assan and Enansal’s arrival for breakfast. They ate amongst the gossip in the kitchens, Ellana and Sul’assan’s voices soft amongst it all before they fell into a comfortable silence to list of the word from other temples and cities. Nothing was of great importance, but they listened regardless.

Enansal rose first, meal finished. His small hand squeezed Ellana’s in a silent comfort, a silent request. She nodded her agreement and thanks all in one, the corners of her lips tugged upwards in a smile. He brightened with a smile that lingered upon his departure.

Sul’assan followed, her farewell and gentle kiss upon Ellana’s brow, as a sister would for her younger, the affection genuine.

“I will see you later, mistress. Do not fret too much.” Her smile was gentle, her hand warm upon hers for a moment before she, too, departed from the kitchen 

And Ellana did not linger long after, her meal finished and the cooks beginning preparations for the next meal signaling that her time to leave was upon them. She called her thanks and was met with a chorus of ‘your welcome’s as she left.

She wandered the halls, the library held little appeal after seven days spent amongst the book but finding no answers. She had explored all she could within Fen’harel’s collection of knowledge, but nobooks on the theories of time held what she sought. Nor did any of the other books she had searched. She was seeking the impossible.

Her searching had turned to the figure cloaked in nightmare, and had also found nothing on what she had seen.

“Fen’allan.” Har’enaste’s voice called before she could stray too far into the depths of the temple.

She turned to face him and brought a faint smile to her lips. He returned the gesture, his own lips a thin line, strained with the effort of the attempt. Lines of worry tugged upon his features, his posture rigged with unexpressed concern. Concern that he would not place into so many words.

“Is everything okay?”

“You were not in your room. I had thought--“

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, “I wanted to eat elsewhere, today.”

Her room had began to feel more prison than haven.

“Did you need my help with something?” She asked as the man began to visibly relax, the worry lingered but not as prominently. She had began to understand that he was not well versed in the expression of emotions.

“I wanted to inform you that Elvarel will be in the courtyard for your lessons. It is best that we do not delay them any further, little wolf.”

She did not bristle for the nickname, smiling instead. His expression of fondness was subtle, but there, underlying and almost hidden. “Of course. Thank you for coming to find me.”

Ellana bowed her head in thanks, her smile wider with her freedom returned. She turned to leave, though hesitated a moment, breath held as she fought with herself on whether or not to speak.

“Do you know where Fen’harel may be later?”

“I… It would be hard to say. You had best wait for him to seek you.”

Guilt tugged at him and the corners of his lips twisted in a manner similar to their reintroduction, a fidget in his stance that spoke things he did not wish to speak. Ellana did not press him, the man filled with enough discomfort for her question alone.

“I will,” he visibly relaxed as soon as the words had passed her lips, “thank you, Har’enaste.”

She bowed low once more before she strode across the hall of the temple, and out. She passed by those working the gardens, minding the statues and trimming the trees. She passed by those who were merely on a stroll before their day began. She noticed their eyes upon her, watched her with more concern than curiosity. All would have heard of how Fen’harel’s creation had been poisoned.  

Their eyes followed, even as she went further past them. Their stares were heavy upon her, in a weight she had almost forgotten; heavier, now, with the concern they showed. Curiosity, wonder, and contempt had all been stares she had grown accustomed to. Concern was not.

She did not allow herself to waver though these eyes would not judge her if she slipped. These eyes would be more forgiving than when the eyes followed her as the Herald, as the Inquisitor. Despite that assurance, she did not allow herself to show her discomfort.

Thoughts fled as she approached the courtyard where a figure stood, as promised. 

Ellana stepped onto the stone of the courtyard, her feet firm upon the ground as they made contact. As if awakened by the contact of flesh against stone, the sentinel turned to face her. The woman’s movements graceful and fluid,  as if she had not been standing rigid and without movement just moments before. She was a tall woman, eyes colored an amber shade, distant but mindful. No emotion was written upon her face, a mask hid them from view. Her lips formed in the line of a smile that held no warmth as her eyes fell upon Ellana.

“Fen’allan,” she spoke, voice melodic and rich with rhythm despite the lack of emotion. “I am pleased to see you are well. And, as this is our second meeting, I will note that I will speak no apologize for the actions taken against you in our first encounter.”

Ellana smiled in a return to the emotionless one given before, her concerns slipped away. “There is no need for an apology.”

She had insisted the same of Bel’dare and Har’enaste, though both men had shown lingering guilt for doing as was expected of them. This woman had no lingering feelings for doing the task assigned to her.

The sentinel nodded her acknowledgement for Ellana’s acceptance for the lack of apology.

“I am sure you are aware of who I am, however, I will introduce myself.” Her hand raised, placed over her heart as she lowered herself into a deep bow. This one was unfamiliar to her, the first time she had seen such a variation of this greeting. Her movements remained fluid and graceful, without hesitation as she rose again. “I am Elvarel. I will be working with you on offensive techniques. These sessions, I have determined, will serve more as sparring than lesson. I am aware that you grasp the basics?”

“I do.”

“Wonderful, then there is no need for further elaboration.”

Elvarel’s hand lifted, gesturing to the edge of the courtyard where a rack stood, filled with swords of various make and size. “Choose the one that pleases you. Today, we shall begin with swords. Fen’harel had noted that you seemed to favor the weapon?”

Ellana looked to the rack, the swords held her attention as she attempted to assess them from where she stood. She had never felt the true weight of a blade in her hand, had never held one with the intention of using it as a means of assault or defense. The sword she made from the Fade was weightless in her grip.

She extended her hand, palm pointed downards as she pulled the energies of the Fade, threading them together into a solid. The blade formed in her mind, a careful forging, a simple blade with little flare or design. And as it began to take form before them, she curled her hand around the hilt and it was given true form. 

Elvarel’s expression changed, though subtle in movement. The stoic distance she had maintained became touched with a surprised intrigue. Her gaze focused on the blade, meticulous and searching as she examined it, though she did not reach to touch.

“You are full of surprises. Many whom favor blades with their magic merely weave the Fade around the blade already forged. And here… You have made the Fade your weapon.” Her voice held a subtle emotion that Ellana could not place her finger on. Yet, surprise settled between the lines of her face, hiding the other boldly and without reserve.

But, pleasure also made itself known, or what Ellana assumed was pleasure, as the corners of her lips twitched upwards slightly, fleeting.

“We shall see if it can withstand as a true blade does.” Excitement snuck into the melodic flow of her voice, changing the rhythm to quicken by a half beat. The woman was no longer so emotionless, sparked by curiosity. 

“It will hold.” Ellana assured.

Her statement was met with a nod as the sentinel stepped away, her path brought her before the rack of swords. She selected one, tested the weight in her hands before she returned to the precise spot she had once stood. 

“You should be aware that Fen’harel does not expect you to fight. He has asked that you learn to defend yourself, if the need arises. And there are times where fights cannot be avoided and when your best defense is to fight.” 

“I understand, and thank you for volunteering to teach me.” 

She bowed as Elvarel had previously, not as low or as flourish, nor as graceful and smoothly. Her blade thrummed suddenly in her hands, singing to a song she could not hear as she raised herself into position to strike. 

Approval crossed Elvarel’s features, pleased with her pupils’s actions without further prompting.

“The rules are simple. Attack as you will. You win if you draw blood and lose should you fall.”

Ellana nodded and the sentinel lifted her blade. A signal to begin, so Ellana waited no further prompts. She closed the distance between them, as slight as it was, As she moved, she wove a barrier about herself, the action without thought, but from habit from memories past. 

She was not rusty, given that it had been a little over two weeks since she had fought Corypheus. She had yet to engage in a true fight. The thrill of battle rushed over her, the familiar feeling of her barrier in place as she lifted her blade to strike. Adrenaline made her skin tingle, singing with potent magic that waited for her call.

Blades met in a chorus of song, hers sang of sweet falsity and Elvarel’s sang harsh truth as Fade met metal, her first strike blocked with little effort. 

Ellana pulled back as flames sparked between them, exploding outwards in a brilliant display of power, meant to tear through her barriers and leave her vulnerable. The blade in her hand had reinforced the barrier upon the first meeting of the other blade.

When the flames and smoke cleared, she saw Elvarel had not moved, even in the wake of her own flames. She was a statue, unmoving once more, standing strong against the small assault Ellana had launched against her and unfazed by the explosion she had caused. Not even the residual ash had dared mar her.visage.

Ellana searched for an opening, magic gentle pushing and prodding against the sentinel’s. Elvarel left no openings for their session. Regardless, she went for the strike.

Blades sang once more, her attacks blocked by the blade wielded by the sentinel. She pushed forth her magic at each clash of the blade, searching for an opening in Elvarel’s defense. She found none, the sentinel unflinching at her assault, and her magical defense well rounded to where she would not find what she sought so easily. She drew back once more, careful on her feet as she did. She never turned her back to her opponent.

Flames burst in an explosion once more, the impact just below her feet, behind her. It tore through the barrier she had built with ease, her focus elsewhere and not on her defenses as the sentinel had not moved. A mistake on her fault, a miscalculation in assuming that just because she did not move did not mean she would not strike.

Hot ash covered her skin, and the heat lingered from the explosion. Ellana held her distance as she cast a frost to soothe the lingering heat of the fire, eyes focused on the sentinel. 

Her feet carried her forward once more, toes upon the stone curled slightly to fuel the speed at which she surged forward. She struck, a repeat of similar actions taken before, a mirror of all her efforts. Her opponent’s blade lifted, lazily, to block the strike that came. Ellana, instead, feinted to the side as she swept a leg out in an attempt to break Elvarel’s form, to disrupt her focus.

Elvarel was not phase, she was pleased if anything. She moved only a fraction, to catch Ellana’s foot with her leg. Her movements worked against her, twisted by the sentinel to suit her own needs. And she fell, futile attempts to keep upwards failed. She did not hit the ground.

Caught by a stead grip, the woman’s arm caught her and left her suspended in the air at the moment before impact. 

Elvarel smiled, the emotion behind it broke through the mask that had so carefully been put in place. The hints of emotion before were nothing like what she saw now. 

“Wonderful attempts, little wolf. I had thought you simple when you repeated your attack patterns.” She praised, and yet insulted all at the same time, as she lifted Ellana to stand. “In order to lower my guard, you repeated your attempts in order to change later and force an opening.”

“Yes, it’s not often that I’d face someone who doesn’t move, though.” Ellana released the fade of her grip, the solid form dissolved into nothing, no evidence of the blade remained aside from the soft hum of the song it once sang.

“True, but, this means that you know how to fight.” Ellana tensed at the observation, “the question is when you learned? Or, knowledge passed through creation?” 

“I wouldn’t know.”

“True enough, you knew little when we found you. It’s entirely possible there are things you know which you are not aware of.” Ellana would let them assume. Elvarel turned from her, her path carried her to where the swords rested. She placed her weapon back amongst its companions, careful with her handling of the weapon.“We will focus on more magical application in the next session.”

“As you say.” Ellana lowered her head in deference as the sentinel began to pass her, task completed.

“Wait, Elvarel.” She called out, unable to resist the question that lingered in the back of her mind, unable to help the plea that had become laced in her voice. “I… Wanted to know how you came to serve Fen’harel?”

Elvarel turned from her path, facing Ellana with another smile upon her lips. It was not as wide as that first, the corners slightly uplifted as the only hint of its existence. Fondness settled upon the smile, twisted amongst the lines of her lips; it was a fondness reserved for the inquisitive child, and to this woman who was without age, Ellana was such a child.

“I wondered if you would ask,” the implication of the sentinels speaking amongst themselves about her questions heavy in the statement. “My story is similar to many of those who serve as the guardians of this temple. You have seen some, upon your return, but there are many more you will never see.”

As Ellana began to speak,Elvarel’s hand lifted in a call for her silence, ending the interruption before it could begin. 

“I fought in a war, as many have in this temple. I fought for those who sough to go against the one called Fen’harel. We lost. As a spoil of war, for his victory, my troops and I were given to the wolf. It was meant to slight him, I had been the only survivor among those whom served as my troops, and under my guidance.” Steady and true, the lilt of her voice was not swayed by any emotions that may have lingered with the recount of her story.

Again, Ellana began to speak, but Elvarel merely shook her head, beckoning further silence.

“The wolf was not insulted. Or, he simply did not act as such around me.He allowed me to survive and join his ranks. I was elevated to my position over time, having proven myself and my devotion.”

Her hand lowered, freeing Ellana to speak the questions that had blossomed with the course of the story. Yet, she hesitated to speak, and kept the questions at bay instead.

“As for those whom you will rarely or never see, understand that most of the sentinels are only seen when the moment of death is upon an intruder or a guest has overstayed their welcome. Pray you never see them, da’len.”

Elvarel lowered herself into a deep bow once more, motion fluid as she rose once more. “Until our next session,” Her words held promise, expectations.

The sentinel did not linger for further questions, and departed with purpose. Ellana was left with her questions, a garden that blossomed more with each passing day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvarel's name means "more effort". She took the name upon joining Fen'harel's service. I'm not sure if she'll ever end up sharing this information, so I thought I'd give a little explanation here.
> 
> Ellana is specialized as a Knight Enchanter as I really enjoyed playing the class in game. It was like I was a tank-mage, which was quite fun. I felt invincible playing it... Especially since I am sometimes a player who runs in head first and doesn't take strategy into account. This doesn't work so well in Hard Mode, though! Or Nigthmare. 
> 
> We are lacking Fen'harel in this chapter... But, he'll be about in the next one.
> 
> Sul'da'eraen will be updating shortly after I post this chapter as well. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


	12. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sulena Nadas'din broke 7k hits the other day! Thank you so much everyone for reading! It's incredibly flattering, I cannot find the words to convey how much it means.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Dinner came and went, a quiet affair spent alongside Sul’assan and Enansal; quieter yet for the questions that overwhelmed all else, silencing all other thoughts and attempts at speaking more than a few distracted words. Of all the questions that hounded her, relentless, the one that stood out most prominently was Fen’harel and the distance suddenly put between them, though she had reasoned it had been for the best. 

With meal finished and dishes cleared, Ellana began her search. And though Har’enaste had advised distance until Fen’harel approached her, there was only so much she could take, only so many questions that could go unanswered. His past and future both left more questions than they had ever answered.

She searched the library first, but found no signs of the man within the twists and turns of the labyrinth of knowledge. None who lingered within could say they had seen the wolf since he had left in the morning, without a word, without a trace.  

She wandered the halls, instead, and none she had pass could say they had seen any sign of his return between questions of her well-being. She wandered from the halls to rooms she had only visited once, searching for something she knew she would not find. Magic pressed outwards as she searched, intrusive upon those within the range of her magic but no more annoying than a stray strand of hair, brushing along someone’s arm. 

She found no signs, no indication of his magic within the halls. Wishful thinking on her part, to think that she would find him hidden within the halls of his temple. Yet, she found the residual energies of his spell, cast house before, twining with the magic of this moment and twisting into a new spell.

She was not so versed in the difference of spells of this time and her own that she could guess at what had been cast, and what would become of it.

Her feet carried her down the path to his room without the guidance of her own thoughts, without her prompting only fueled by the questions that distracted her. The question of why he had driven her away, just like before but the words and actions were different.

She stood before the door a moment, her hand above the handle, hesitating. Fingers curled around the handle and magic tickled against her skin, warm. She did not make any further action as the door pulled from her and opened, spread wide as if to say: ‘what took you so long?’ She wavered, this time, over the oddity of the magic placed upon the door. She stepped into the room after a moment and the door closed firmly behind her.

The room before her was pristine, no signs of life anywhere in the room, as if he had not slept in his own bed for the last seven days.

She wandered as she had before, looking over the painted walls as if the stories of his past would hold answers to the present. Vainly, she searched for _something_ where she had nothing.

It was no surprise that she found no answers hidden between the lines.

She turned from the walls and found his bed, instead. She fell upon it, unreserved, and wrapped herself in his lingering scent; Solas shared the same scent, touched with something sweeter, honey-like while Fen’harel’s was lace with a must subtle musk, like the woods.

She breathed in, foolish in longing for him when the distance would serve them both better.

_‘You could double your efforts to leave. You could put your time to better use.’_

Ellana laughed out loud for the Well’s urging, and did not answer. For seven days, she had searched vainly and came up with nothing that she could craft into a spell that could weave time to her needs. To draw her forward when she had been pulled back. When she returned, she would praise Dorian for his spell. She had not given him enough credit in her first encounter. She should have paid more attention to the mechanics of it.

She did not heed her own inclinations and understanding, did not listen to the Well. Instead, she pressed her face into the covers as she allowed her mind to drift. The Fade nipped at her heels, beckoning her to slip within with just her thoughts. Sleep took her instead, and the Fade welcomed her troubled mind, distracting her from thoughts and questions.

“Fen’allan,” Solas’ voice called in the distance, the name not her own but the voice was his.

She found herself in Haven, standing before him as she had countless times before. They stood beside the cabin he could claim as his own, given to him by Cassandra as a place to sleep for his offered help. Solas watched her as she blinked to remember herself, curious, head tilted slightly. He was curious of the Dalish woman that stood before him.

“You will never be one of the People.” He spoke again, voice clear, tone laced with an ‘as-matter-of-fact’ attitude but pitched to be delivered gently, soothing as if he were teaching her something.

“ _What?_ Why are you saying this?”

“You know it in your heart that you are not like us. Not like me. You may take a new name, but you will never be Elvhen.”

She took a step back, but his hand grasped her arm. He held her firmly in place, his gaze held her just as firmly while fingers dug into her skin. “I could never truly love you. In this life or the next, not even in my past.”

“Solas… What are you saying?”

“ _Banal ma vhenan._ ”

She woke with a jump, eyes opening to a room of complete darkness. She stared into it while she took a breath, holding it tight in her chest as she shook the feelings of her dreams away. A nightmare of her own making, the touch of the cloaked figure absent from what she had seen.

Fen’harel’s absence had effected her more than she had realized, insecurities brought to light. And, being surrounded by his scent as she slept had not done anything to help.

And before she could for herself from the bed, light filled the room as the door opened. Fen’harel stepped in, form surrounded by the orbs of light before they filled the room, to illuminate the darkness had cloaked the room as day had turned into the night. She shielded her eyes and watched him from the bed, curious.

He was distracted, not seeing her as he ventured deeper into his den. Gaze focused but locked elsewhere, he paused at the desk that rested against the wall, opposite of the bed. He stood there a moment, frustrated, hand lifted to push back any hair that had been freed from it’s binds. He turned away, hands moved to disrobe himself as he approached the bed. His gaze did not find her instantly, lifting from the floor and to the bed before he finally saw her.

His hands paused, steps halted as his gaze searched with a touch of disbelief.

“It seems,” he began, voice fluid, smooth. A voice she had not heard address _her_ in some time. “I have an intrude in my bed once again. Has she come willingly, or at the behest of some nightmare, fueled by fever?”

“I came willingly. I wanted to speak with you. 

“There are other places to speak, da’sa. My bed is not one of them.” His hands resumed their task, clothing melted away and into a pool at his feet.

She did not stare at what she had seen before.

He drew the golden robe over himself and approached; he strode forward with one foot before the other, a graceful, cocky gait that swayed his hips in a familiar rhythm… It was hard not to watch. 

“You’ve been avoiding me at every turn. How could we speak if you wouldn’t stop?”

His weight settled on the foot of the bed but he approached her no further than that, did not stalk up to where she was settled. Did not turn her into his prey, but, remained entirely distant despite flirting words of before.

“You have a point.” He conceded, without denial of his avoidance.

“Why?”

Fen’harel hesitated, his form tensed before he turned to face her. Guilt was an intruder upon his features, unwelcome and unappealing where he had smiled so brightly only days before. Guilt was an emotion she had seen so rarely upon his features, bearing bad news each time it made an appearance. 

“I should not twist you from your purpose, should not bind you here by my actions. And, I have already begun to do so.” 

“Fen’harel…”

His lips twitched upwards, a faint smile behind the veil of guilt.

“I’m not here by my own decision, but my actions are my own choice. You have not bound nor have twisted me.” She promised.

“And others have made their attempts.” 

“Perhaps they have, but my will is… Indomitable.”

Fen’harel laughed, suddenly unburdened by the the guilt that gripped him as he closed the distance between them on the bed.  

“Are you a spirit of Will, then?” He wondered, teasing. “I had thought you to be Wisdom or, perhaps, Compassion.”

He leaned over her, and she leaned back while one hand lifted to brush along his cheek to soothe away the lines of guilt that had lingered. Her eyes sought his, a smile upon her lips before her thumb traced the line of his, gently. 

“Who did we meet in the forest? What promise did you make to them?” 

His lips smiled against the pad of her thumb, mischievous in nature, as he leaned in closer to her. A hand lifted to support her back. 

“He is someone you are better off not knowing the name of. I have promised him a lie. You needn’t fret over this.”

:Lies. Deception. Tales of the Dread Wolf were rife with such themes, his true intentions behind his actions never let loose. He hadn’t told her what he intended, but told her a truth all the same while lying in the same breath. Just as she loved him and lied him within the same beat of her heart. Yet, she understood the necessity for their lies, for their deceptions. 

Her hand moved to rest upon the back of his head, fingers tangled into the hair he had let loose as she drew his lips to hers. They met in a brief touch, sweet, fleeting yet loving all the same.

“Fen’harel,” she breathed against his lips, his name spoke with such reverence, “I want you to trust me.” 

_‘And what does his trust gain? Why ask him this when you cannot change the course of time? What would your gaining this knowledge do?’_

The Well cut into the moment, voicing the logic she knew. She could not change what was already done, what would come. 

“Then, trust me, ma da’sa. I know what I’m doing.” 

His promised held such confidence in himself, in what he would do. And she wanted to tell him that he didn’t truly know, to recount the words spoken to her in a moment of frustration. She wanted to tell him of how upon waking, he would not find the world he had sought to build, that his so called change was not what he thought it would be. She almost wept for him, for this younger self who still believed so greatly.

“You look heartbroken… Do I cause you such pain?”

His eyes sought hers, searched hers as if he could find the source of what brought her sorrow.

Ellana shook her head, a lie once more. But she could never tell him this truth, lest she lose the place she belonged. The place she had to return to. Instead, she drew him in once more, lips upon his to convey the love she held for him. Love for all his lifetimes. 

His hands found her hair as he lowered her back down into the bed. 

“I promise you a gift much more exciting than the answers you seem.”  

“What is it?”

He laughed against her lips as he lowered himself down fully beside her, drawing her into his chest. His arms wrapped firmly around her while his nose tucked into his neck.

“It’s a surprise. If you are patient, I will grant it to you." 

She melted into him, fitted against him as she always had before.

“I will wait, Fen’harel.”


	13. Ati'asha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry for the time it took to finally post this chapter!
> 
> Life did not allow for the chapter at first, as a lot fell on my plate. I broke up with my significant other, got a dog, the dog got sick, then the cat... And between that, I burned my writing hand.
> 
> Followed by heavy, heavy, heavy revisions to this chapter... Before I burned my hand again.
> 
> And then more revisions.
> 
> I did end up splitting this chapter in half because I simply couldn't hold back on it any longer.
> 
> I thank you all so much for being patient with me as life worked itself out. I was really nervous about this chapter, but, I'm pleased with it in the end. The break did help and your kind words have kept me going! I think things are steady enough for me to return to a regular posting schedule!
> 
> Thank you all once more!

Ellana woke alone, wrapped carefully in the blankets of Fen’harel’s bed. She snuck her fingers from the warmth of the covers to where Fen’harel had slept, and found little warmth remaining. He had departed long ago, not long enough for the bed to have grown cold, however. She did not force herself to rise, lingering instead to breathe in deep the scent of Fen’harel that clung to the blankets, to her hair, to the pillow beside her.  And it was some time before she stretched out and brushed the sleep from her eyes. 

She pushed herself up into a seated position, intent on leaving the remaining warmth but a note upon Fen’harel’s pillow brought her pause. With a smile, she unfolded the note to reveal the lavish handwriting that had become so familiar -- even with the passage of time, the care he took to write remained the same.

 

   ‘ _Fen’allan,_

 _I apologize that I am unable to greet you when you wake, as I do enjoy the sight. I am afraid that I have something to attend to._ _I will be unavailable to see you until I present you with your gift._

_I will see you then._

_Fen’harel’_

 

The smile upon her lips grew wider as her heart fluttered in her chest with a growing fondness that she could not resist, selfishly wanting more when she should not. The noted was folded tenderly, and held close as she left the bed to greet the day. She slipped from the warmth and, with a brush of magic, she made the bed behind her and vanished all traces of her stay from the room.

Ellana traveled down empty halls, tracing familiar steps to her room where Sul’assan greeted her upon opening the door. The girl’s cheeks colored a brilliant shade of pink as a knowing smile teased upon her lips. Neither spoke, thought Ellana could see the questions that lingered on the tip of her tongue, barely restrained. Instead, Sul’assan hummed a cheerful tune as they walked through their usual morning routine.

They took breakfast in the kitchens and were joined by Enansal. Gossip and idle chatter filled the room and they spoke softly in the lull between subjects. The chatter turned from rumors of the other Temples and cities to more domestic matters, and finally to Ellana as if she had not been sitting in the room amongst them. The attention was stifling. 

“Why are they talking about my lessons?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Sul’assan smiled, a mixture of soothing and filled with a touch of her own pride, “Fen’harel has never created any creature before. They are proud. Everyone here greatly cares for him.” The pride in her smile continued to grow, laced heavily in her voice as she spoke, “Fen’harel does not have a great standing when compared to the other gods. He has little in the way of nobles as well. Many do not follow him, even if he is respected. You have boosted his influence, though I do not believe that was his intention in creating you.”

“I see…” Ellana did not offer protest against their thoughts of the situation, thankful, instead, for their continued approval of her sudden appearance there.

They resumed their meal in a relative silence, resuming the previous pace of listening as chatter once again turned to other topics. And, with her meal finished, Sul’assan departed with a promise to see her after she finished her work for the day -- commissions were taken up in the wake of her discovered freedom. Enansal kept her company, silent but engaging all the same, until her meal was finished. He departed for his lessons upon the completion of their meal, but not before his hand squeezed her own, a promise between them: he would see her for dinner when the day was done.

Alone, and with her own lessons, she left the chatter of the kitchens. 

The courtyard was, surprisingly, quiet compared to the previous lessons. Usually, these days garnered a crowd of some sort, but she had passed only a handful of others on her way; they did not linger longer than their greetings, quick to hurry to their destination. Relief had washed over her, the tension she carried, unawares, varnished. The thought of being under constant watch once more was not a pleasant one; she would return to that life soon enough.

“Hello again, Fen’allan,” the voice that came from behind her was melodic, the spoken word flowing with a song-like rhythm.

It did little to keep her from being startled as tension returned. She did not whirl to face the offender, turning as calmly as she could manage to face the woman. Tall, though she was not as tall as Elvarel, lithe and limber stood the familiar figure of the sentinel whom had first carried her into the Temple grounds. Her eyes were a deep brown with her hair a similar coloring. Her hair had been shaved to manipulate the hairline to start further from her forehead and the remained was pulled into a short tale.

“Hello,” she returned as a faint smile settled upon her lips for the familiarity of the woman.

“I am in charge of your lessons today.” The woman spoke suddenly, without hesitation, straight to the point of her business here. “The lessons today will not be about fighting, nor will you be learning anything in defensive in nature. Today, I impart knowledge of a more domestic sort, a basic knowledge that most know before they pass the stages of childhood. I will be teaching you how to ravel between the cities and where each eluvian leads.”  

She paused, as if she were considering but gave little time for Ellana to speak in response. “There is word that you enjoy reading. We will stop at one of Mythal’s libraries if you are able to pass my test at the end of this lesson.” 

“Thank you, I would greatly appreciate that.” 

_‘Mythal’s library may hold more information in how we may return.’_

_It’s possible, I will look._

“You may call me Ati’asha, Fen’allan.” Her hand extended, a gesture to the path that lead away from the courtyard. “We will be taking the eluvian just at the edge of the Temple grounds.” 

Ellana nodded a quick acknowledgement of the guidance before she stepped down to the path indicated. The sentinel fell in behind her, as smoothly as her own shadow to match her stride with perfection. They followed the path, clearly defined before them until they ventured further from the Temple, where it began to fade from view. It was almost as if it had never existed with each step they closed the distance between them and the eluvian; to those whom had never seen the path, it would certainly be the case.  

“Why are there two eluvians?” She wondered aloud, allowing her curiosity freedom.

“The one in the library is Fen’harel’s personal one. It is rare that anyone besides him is granted use of it. He is the only one who knows the password.” 

It made sense that a god would have their own, and as they approached the eluvian, she nodded her understanding to the answer given. “Can an eluvian go anywhere, so long as you have the key for it and your destination?”

“A very good assessment, and near correct at that. Not all can travel to wherever one pleases as some are locked to a single place and will not stray from that course. The exception is, however, when the one whom tries to use it is powerful enough to direct it to where they desire. Usually, only the gods are able to do so.” The sentinel gestured to the mirror that was still some distance ahead of them. “For example, this one will only travel to the Crossroads. All cities and temples have such an eluvian, but where you will find that eluvian in the city will vary. Some stand at the forefront and others in important structures.” 

They closed the distance and she saw the eluvian stood upon a pedestal of carved stone that downplayed its importance. Grass grew from the cracks and moss covered the surface of the stone, giving the illusion that it was unattended, neglected, as if this location was without importance. It looked undisturbed, though she was certain many in the Temple made frequent use of it. It was a subtle defense against intruders, much like the path -- a trick, a guise, something subtle and befitting of a trickster.

Without further hesitation, she climbed the stone steps and came to face the mirror of the eluvian. It came to life in an instant, rippling with the disoriented image of its destination before it sifted into a blue, welcoming hue. It bid her forward, to step through the surface; here, she hesitated. Her gaze fell back onto Ati’asha for guidance. The sentinel gestured her forward, patient with her movements and content with her silence until they arrived at their destination. With this confirmation, she stepped through the rippling surface of the mirror. 

The familiar tickle of magic ran over her skin, leaving her unable to halt the intake of breath that followed. And as her gaze began to focus, she was unable to exhale the breath that had been so hastily drawn. 

The Crossroads were unlike how she remembered, a place covered in a hazy fog that had made it hard to see the clear definition of what had stood before her but she had seen a place touched by age with buildings felled as they did in time. If it had always been as such, she had not known then.

She stood there, now, with gaze unhindered by fog and saw that a place that stood between was not immune to the touch of time. Towers and archways of stone stood tall, unbroken, sturdy. From where she stood, she saw that where she stood was similar to that of a courtyard of a castle as a building surrounded where she stood.

She wondered if time was more powerful than the elves had imagined. She wondered if it was not the exposure to the humans that had caused the quickening of their blood, but something else entirely. 

The bustle of life pulled her gaze away from her surroundings to what stood before her and saw elves as they crossed the courtyard, past metal woven trees and various eluvians to their destination. As they passed through their respective eluvians, some would emerge and travel to another. Every mirror was open, unlocked and alive, simply waiting to be used.

“As you can see,” Ati’asha’s voice filled her ear, suddenly, startling from her observations, “there are many paths, each leading to a city, temple, and some even leading to wilderness and beyond.”

Ellana turned to watch the woman step from behind her, the tips of her ears burned in embarrassment at being caught unawares once again. 

“You will do well to memorize as we go.” The sentinel spoke again, her arm extending to gesture at the expanse around them.

“But--“ 

“This will be your test today.” 

“There are dozens -- even more than that! I couldn’t possibly remember them all in a day.”

Again, she felt like a child before yet another sentinel, her protests similar to that of her youth. The tips of her ears burned hotter, a fever that began to spread down to her neck as the rest of her began to color.

Melodic laughter, without contempt nor condescend, came before Ati’asha spoke. “You will be fine, Fen’allan. You’ve proven that you know much already, and your guesses have not been far off, either.”

Ellana was given no time to offer further protest as the sentinel guided her a short distance from the eluvian with hands that were gentle, warm, and accepting. They turned her around, facing where they had begun. 

“Take note of what you see. I’m certain you’ll be able to draw the connection.” The woman’s voice was a soft whisper in Ellana’s ear, soothing.

She saw a pair of the Dread Wolf’s statues resting upon a pedestal, framing the eluvian. They were the same statue that had laid so proudly in Mythal’s Temple and the ones the Dalish set up outside their camps. A statue that continued throughout time as the Dalish tried to hold onto what was left of this time. Yet, she felt that the meaning behind these were not what was so often thought of the wolf she had grown to love. They stared her down, their eyes piercing through her.

She stepped back, away from the piercing eyes and into Ati’asha who offered silent support, hands upon her shoulder before she was guided from one eluvian to the next.

This one she knew, and it shook her so suddenly that she swayed as her blood ran cold, draining from her face.

The pair of dragons that framed the mirror had always denoted Mythal, yet, she had paid them little mind upon her first visit. She had dismissed the thought as something she had only imagined upon her return with Morrigan, yet, they stood before her, blatant. This was where Morrigan’s eluvian had led, and for someone who had been so bent in avoiding her mother, she had been so secure in the palm of her hand. It could not have been a coincidence that the daughter of the one who held Mythal’s soul ended up with Mythal’s mirror.

“Who does this belong to?” She asked, though she knew the answer. She asked, if only to hear the words of confirmation.

“That is Mythal’s personal eluvian. Notice that it does not respond, even as you stand before it. Let us move on?”

She was given little time to further process the development as Ati’asha led her to the next mirror along the squared pillar. Archers framed the next mirror, their bows drawn and pointed towards the mirror itself. It remained as lifeless as Mythal’s had as they crossed before it. It was clear whom this mirror belong to, and she did not question it further. They moved along to the fourth and final eluvian nestled against this pillar.

Wolves framed this one, their heads tilted back in a silent howl. It was curious that Fen’harel would have a second mirror upon the pillar. As they came to a stop before the mirror, it rippled lazily to life as if casting her a sleepy greeting. Yet, no destination was apparent in the rippling surface. 

The gasp of surprise that came from behind her indicated that such a response was not _normal_ , nor expected.

“Is this Fen’harel’s personal eluvian?” 

“Yes, but it should not open so easily… I would assume that he unlocked it for you.” Ati’asha composed herself quickly as she spoke, gesturing for Ellana to follow as if the mirror had not responded. 

“Do all the gods have their eluvians on such a pillar? Or, are they, perhaps, in the halls of the building surrounding us?”

“And you worried you’d be unable to memorize the eluvians in a day. And, yes, your speculations are correct.” Ati’asha extended her hand forward, gesturing to the closest cluster of eluvians. “I will tell you how to remember where each leads, as these are not so obvious.”

The groupings were based on regions, that much was easy enough to commit to memory. Ati’asha went on to show her the subtle design within the frame around the mirror. It would have been self-explanatory, but for those who did not know where to look, the imagery would mean little more than a design. Each mirror had a subtle shift, changing with the indication of whom the city or temple was beholden to, or alternatively: whether it be city, temple, or otherwise. 

The passed by more groupings, briefly going over the patterns of each as they ventured closer to the entrance of the building. Yet, there was one mirror in one grouping that they avoided entirely. It was framed with a twisted metal that was almost tree-like in appearance, colored a brilliant gold that looked relatively new. The frame was topped with a halla-like creature with eyes that pierced her heart. Trepidation crept over her as they passed close by and she did not dare to ask on it, nor did Ati’asha speak of it.

They passed one final grouping an a statue of Mythal before they entered the building. Upon entering he saw eluvians lining the walls of the halls. They passed some mirrors by, while learning of others before they entered a room with a square pillar, similar to the one outside. More statues framed the eluvians here, denoting the god’s mirrors that led to either city or to their personal eluvians.

The difference between the eluvians inside versus the ones in the courtyard was the fact that a majority were locked, and Ati’asha did not tell her where the locked ones led. Curiosity ate at her as they continued through and then finally looped around to where they had began. 

“And with this knowledge, you should be well equipped to travel as you see fit. However, Fen’harel will have a sentinel accompany you when you do.”

“Why do I need an escort?"

“Do not fret,” Ati’asha soothed and Ellana bristled at herself. She had sounded more perturbed than she had intended. “Har’enaste is also accompanied when he travels. It is not to single you out. As for why, safety is the simplest explanation.”

Ellana saw the look in the sentinel’s eyes, the raw emotion not so easily hidden; she saw the grim look in her eyes, saw the haunting of the past and the remorse that came with it. And, to protest further would only stir those emotions more and raise suspicion to _why_ she wanted to travel alone.   

She said nothing more.

“Fen’allan,” the woman’s voice cleared all further thoughts as well as the emotion that had been written plainly upon her face and allowed her mask to settle into place once more. “Bring us to the eluvian of the city you wish to visit, and tell me the destinations of all the eluvians we spoke of previously as we pass them.” 

Ellana smiled, and with a nod, she lead them back through the courtyard. They passed the same eluvians from before, straying further from the twisted one than they had previously. She gave brief and quick definitions of each, until they arrived at the eluvian that lead to Mythal’s city.  

The first place Fen’harel had taken her to. 

“This is it.”

“Wonderfully done!” Ati’asha’s praise bubbled forth, the melodic voice even more like a song now. “And you were _worried._ ”

The teasing brought a warm flush to her cheeks but they did not burn with embarrassment; it was oddly pleasant and comforting.

“I was worried over nothing, then.”

Laughter rang out, song-like and full of cheer. Ati’asha’s laughter filled the courtyard with her bliss, bringing the others who passed through to halt the advance to look to the sentinel who laughed without restraint. 

 “Such is usually the case,” she gestured her forward with a smile, “through the eluvian, if you would, mistress.”

“Mistress?”

“Certainly, as it does not displease me to address you as such. Unless you would prefer ‘little wolf’?” 

Now her cheeks burned with the familiar heat of embarrassment, for both the titles presented to her. “You can call me whatever you’d like, I won’t control what you do.” 

More laughter followed her words, unrestrained and full of mirth. Ati’asha glowed with her delight, her grin a touch wicked.  

“Oh, little one, you may yet regret giving me such freedom. I can find a name far more scandalous and certain to make your ears burn.” 

The laughter persisted in her mind, even as she passed through the eluvian and into the large, bustling city. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a TON of research into the appearance of the crossroads and a few other things after this chapter was already written... And rewrote based on what I found. And the more I searched, the more I found some minor details to add in.
> 
> Thank you to miscteatime/DrTeatime on tumblr for the wonderful reference images!
> 
> If you haven't seen them, please check out: http://imgur.com/a/tmbup#10 for where I got the appearance of the Crossroads.
> 
> I imagine that it was once whole. As for why it changes when you are there with Morrigan... Well, I have that planned out...
> 
> Lastly: Sketches of Elvarel and Ati'asha will be up on my tumblr at http://anonymous-inquisitor.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you all once more. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	14. Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into Mythal's City once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. Thank you everyone for the support and the wonderful words. I cannot begin to convey how much they've meant to me.
> 
> They definitely keep me going. I'm so happy to share this story with you.

It never ceased to amaze her to see so many elves in a single place, living and breathing magic as if it were nothing. Ellana felt a sorrow, for knowing what was to come to them, for knowing what would be lost. It had been painful before, knowing what her people had lost but it became worse the longer she lived it and saw it. 

Ati’asha stepped from the eluvian to her side and Ellana pulled her gaze from the sight of the denizens and visitors of the city, seeking guidance from the sentinel.

The cheerful mirth that had been upon the woman’s face had been replaced with a mask, stoic and without emotion. She was as she had first seen the sentinels in Mythal’s Temple, and how she had been when Ellana had first arrived before the cracks had begun to form. Ati’asha gestured towards the path they’d take without a word.

Ellana bit back the request to see more of the city, at least for today.

She stepped forward, down the steps and the sentinel fell into stride at her side, seamless in her actions. They drew the gaze of one of the gathered groupings near the eluvian, their eyes burned with intensity before the whispers began. Like a ripple in a lake, the whispers spread from one group to another and grew in fervor as they passed by the initial group. She resisted the urge to listen, but found herself curious. 

Not all were kind, their words meant to be sharp and cutting, intentional as if they assumed she would be listening. She, whom traveled with Fen’harel’s sentinel, had to be his creation. They had not forgotten what had transpired in the city upon her arrival. They spoke poorly of her and of the disrespect she had shown to another god.  

Their words did not have the intended effect, doing little to hurt her, who had endured much as the Dalish and elven “Herald of Andraste”. And, she could not bring herself to feel guilty for saving a life. 

“Do not let the whispers bother you. They have little else to do but gossip and monger rumors. Followers of Dirthamen sometimes have the loosest lips.”

“I ha-- will face worse, I imagine. Thank you, Ati’asha.” The attempt at giving comfort was not lost on her; she was thankful for the words and the show of emotion. 

The whispers continued and Ellana focused upon those who spoke; they wore clothing elaborate in nature and some with the symbols of Falon’din subtly worked into the design -- a show of patriotism to their patron god. Others were far more obscure or not visible at all. Yet, none were so bold as to turn words into conflict, only raising the volume of their whispers to be heard clearly. 

Ati’asha turned her gaze upon them and silence was instantaneous, at least until they had passed and eye contact could no longer be maintained.

“I was a slave.” The woman beside her broke the silence and her concentration on the whispers. She spoke with conviction, bold and without hesitation.

“What?” 

“I was a slave, and as you have saved your Enansal, I was saved by Fen’harel.” She repeated with the same conviction as before, “He gave me freedom and allowed me to choose my name.”

Ati’asha was trying to shield her from the whispers by drowning them with conversation, by pulling her attention away from everything that distracted her. Guilt gripped her heart more firmly, digging in as it made a permanent home.

“What… Made you pick your name?” She managed, softly as she allowed the sentinel to become the sole focus of her attention while her gaze remained on the path before them.

“This was not my first name. Originally, I had taken ‘Nameless’. Then, I took the name ‘Protection’ when I had joined the ranks of Fen’harel’s sentinels.”

“And then you became Ati’asha? How?” 

“Elvarel.” The name crossed Ati’asha’s lips, the melodic lilt flowing with a great love and affection that Ellana had to turn her gaze upon the other woman. The affection that was held in her eyes broke through the mask she wore, unrestrained and bright. She glowed with the affection that no mask could hide the smile that was not physically present.

And like that, the mask fell away into something softer with emotions that were not quite restrained. Ati’asha turned her gaze upon Ellana, the corners of her lips lifted in a playful smile as if bidding her to ask.

“Is… It normal to be named by another sentinel?”

That was the question to ask. The smile upon the woman’s lips curled into a grin. 

“Not entirely, but it was not the most normal of circumstance, either. You see, little mistress, it is not uncommon for a lover to call their other by a name they find sweet. Only, I found the nickname to be quite fitting. And, Fen’harel agreed.” The melodic sway of her words were full of mirth once more, her eyes glittered with a hint of mischief. “The name was then given as an honor for accomplishing what he cannot, at times.”

“Fen’harel cannot make peace?”

No tale had ever told of a peaceful Dread Wolf, but no tale told the truth, either. 

“That… Is not entirely correct. There are times in which he is unable to be sentimental, making the decisions that accomplish what must be done. I attempt to make peace in order for him to avoid those decisions, making peace when he must make results.” And as they approached the staircase that lead up into the Temple, she offered no further explanation. 

Whispers ceased to follow as they climbed the steps, silence settled in the absence of their own conversation. It was heavy upon her, and grew heavier with each step until she could no longer bear it.

“Why become a sentinel?” She wondered aloud, of the woman who walked beside her.

“Because I wanted the fighting to end.”

“That seems to be the opposite of what a sentinel does.” 

Silence returned for a moment as they crossed a few more steps, Ati’asha’s gaze upon the path before them.“Many would agree with that assessment. I, however, do not believe that sentinels need be a lethal force at all times. I am good at making sure that we are not.”

There was a smile in her voice as she spoke, the mask breaking easier each time they spoke. And when silence settled this time, it was comfortable.

They arrived at the top of the stairs and crossed the threshold into the Temple quickly. Though once they stood inside, Ellana hesitated. She sought Ati’asha’s gaze once more, seeking further guidance. She had only been here once, and had little time to memorize the pathways they had taken. The sentinel’s smile was gentle as she gestured towards their path, though her arm shifted from the gesture to extending out towards Ellana in askance of her own.

The action was meant to offer comfort, to offer protection in a place unfamiliar. Bel’dare had done the same, she had realized. 

There was no reason to object the offering. Ellana slid her arm through the other woman’s and allowed herself to be protected for once as Ati’asha navigated them to their destination. 

They walked past the Great Hall, where she had first encountered others of the pantheon as Mythal had been called to pass judgment upon the sinner. They did not take the same path that she and Fen’harel had. They took the hall that was reserved for the guests of the Temple, rather than the hall meant for servants. 

The hallway was much more decorated than the one she remembered, the walls covered with various motifs made of tiles colored in a range of metallic shades. The most prominent of all the motifs was the large, stylized version of Mythal and the form of a dragon that was placed upon the opposite wall. 

They encountered none as they traversed through the hall, yet silence was not upon them. From the rooms and halls adjoined to the one they traveled came softly spoken conversations, filling what would be silence alongside the sound of their own footsteps. 

It was only when they approached the large doors of the library that slaves and servants became instantly visible, scattered about the hall circling the library. They looked to the pair and bowed low in respect before they fled from sight, their chatter lingered in the air until they completely drifted from earshot. 

“Are you so nervous about the books, mistress? Or, are you shaking with anticipation?”

Ellana faltered in her step, stumbling but caught by the sentinel’s arm that held her close. She had not noticed the way her muscles had tensed and quivered with the strain, had neglected the anxiety she had felt clenching in her stomach. She had not noticed how fervently she had been hoping to find _something_ \-- anything -- within the library that would help her.

She laughed, breathlessly, as she answered. “I believe it is more anticipation than nerves.”

Her voice sounded weaker than she had intended. 

“How peculiar you are, little mistress, to quake with anticipation but not with fear when you faced a lord with a blade and little care for your safety. You even went so far as to challenge Bel’dare without batting an eye.” The mask that Ati’asha had tried to maintain fell away entirely as he laughter filled the hall, “What do you hope to find that brings such excitement?”

“The impossible,” Ellana spoke in jest; the truth was easier to speak in such a manner. It rolled off her tongue, smooth and without the weight of lies. She would be guilt-free for this moment, at least. She could bear the weight of her lies another time.

“You are truly Fen’harel’s creation, as curious and clever as you are. Good luck, mistress.” Ati’asha’s smile was brilliant as she released her. She bowed low as she stepped back, “I have a task that I must attend to. Stay in the library until I return.”

“I will. Thank you for bringing me.”

Ellana waited until she could no longer see the sentinel before she crossed through the large doors that lead into the library. 

At the entryway stood a plaque with words colored a bright, metallic gold and written in the flowing script of elven, greeted her. She paused to read the words she had not seen before.

 

_‘All those who can read are welcome.’_

 

It was generous, to extend the offer of knowledge to such lengths, extending a further offer of protection to those who entered in words that were not so plainly spoken. Slaves, who were forbidden to learn, would be welcome if they had somehow learned; they would suffer no consequence of continued learning. 

With a smile, she stepped around the sign and further into the labyrinth of knowledge. 

The shelves were larger and they were greater in number, far more than she had remembered -- she had only a short period of time to look at the shelves beyond the eluvian when Fen’harel had lead her through. Now, she got a better look at the towering shelves that were filled to the brim with knowledge, no space spared; it was unlike the frivolous setup she had seen further in.

She couldn’t begin to fathom how many subjects within each shelf, nor how many books lined each one, or the vast amount of subjects the books touched on. She felt her breath still in her lungs, unable to draw anything further in or release it out as emotion gripped her violently, without reprieve. She shook with tears unshed.

They had _so much_ knowledge and they had lost it all.

Her head began to swim, overwhelmed as her knees began to give in beneath her.

 _‘Focus.’_ The Well spoke abruptly through the clouded thoughts, soothing and gentle, for once. _‘Take a breath and begin. We do not know how long the sentinel will be gone.’_

As suggested, she took a slow breath and tried to gather herself again. She held it until she felt her lungs begin to protest, and released it as slowly as she could manage. Her head lightened, though the unnecessary thoughts lingered. She pushed them aside in favor of her search, ignoring the sorrow as she read over each title.

Her search expanded from one shelf to the next, eventually bringing her past a handful of others. Slaves marked with vallaslin of various gods blended easily with the nobles, donned in clothes flourish and frivolous, and the common folk, who wore as much lavish as they could afford,in the library, a neutral ground where none could treat the other as any less than themselves.

All were enthralled in their reading or their searches that they paid her little mind, even if she strayed too close to where they stood. It was a relief, compared to those outside of the temple who had little else to do but gossip. 

But, they all faded from view and from her thoughts as she came across a section more theoretical than factual. She skimmed the books for theories on time, as time could only be theorized, and time travel was something that could only be imagined. It was strange that in a time where magic was unrestrained that they still did not have something solid on time -- but, for those who lived for ever, what would have been the point? She wondered on this as she searched, vainly, for an answer. 

Ellana found none that she had not already read. 

“I wonder what you so desperately seek, child. My collection is vast and spread throughout my cities… And there are still that are outside of my grasp.”

The voice that shattered her concentration was smooth, soothing to hear, and dispelled all worries that had begun to plague her. The voice was filled with curiosity and question, though no question had been asked. She felt a familiar aura rush over her, and on instinct she turned with her head lowered in respect.

“You bow your head too easily, child. Come,” Mythal’s hand extended into her field of vision, lifting her chin so that their eyes met. Amethyst ones stared into her own, seeing into her soul, and leaving her chilled despite the warmth of the hand upon her face, “Speak with me, instead.”

The goddess’ hand fell away and she gestured towards an alcove near by before she turned away from her, graceful. Her stride made her look as if she floated along the ground, steps gentle and fluid like a rhapsody of song. Ellana could only fall into stride behind her, like a newborn halla calf on untried legs and no matter how she tried to imitate the grace of the goddess, she fell short. 

“What are you called? I know the wolf calls you Fen’allan, but that is merely a title, is it not?”

She felt her blood run cold with a sudden shot of adrenaline, her ears warmed while her limbs tensed.

“I… Should not say.”

They stepped into the alcove where more shelves of books made the walls, and seats of soft velvet, colored a rich shade of spiced wines, waited.

Mythal’s gaze held hers, lips curled up into a smile as she settled into a plush seat. “There is no danger from sharing a name.”

Yet, Ellana could not be certain. At least, she need not share her clan’s name. And Ellana could be common enough for the meaning alone.

“Ellana. My name is Ellana.”

“A name that was chosen with care, and chosen well. It is lovely.” She praised as she gestured for Ellana to seat herself across from her. 

She sank into the seat, awkward and suddenly dumbfounded before the goddess. Words betrayed her, escaping from her thoughts before her mouth could convey them. 

“Let us now speak of what you seek from within my library,” Mythal spoke before she could struggle further, “you seek knowledge, yes… But not something fathomed so easily.”

“I… Well, yes… Simply and complicatedly put.”

The goddess’ laughter was loud and hearty, reminiscent of the woman she had met within the Fade. “It won’t be simple. Knowledge is often scattered to prevent one from holding it all to themselves, greedily. But what you seek is incomplete, and even if you were to manage to put all the pieces together, or, should you neglect a piece…”  

Mythal hesitated, her gaze piercing through her again. “Consider taking caution before you act.” 

Ellana stared, unabashed, at the goddess who sat before her. Who spoke but offered little in the way of clarification of her words, further reminding her of the woman she had met before.

“Do you know what will happen?”

“Goodness, no, I only know that the youthful are impatient… And that you are younger than most.”

She flushed, embarrassment burning hot through her veins as she suffered the scrutiny of Mythal’s gaze. “I… It doesn’t matter. I can’t stay.”  

“No, you cannot. You clearly do not belong, in what way, however, I am uncertain.” The smile that had been upon her lips grew gentler, amusement replaced with an emotion she could not name. “You are a curious creature, with secrets I wish to know. But, we all carry our own secrets. I must be satisfied with that and hope for my success.”

Her hand lifted before Ellana could ask, dismissing the subject.

“I will assist you in gaining access to what you seek, however, that will take some time. For now, I will gift you what is available in _this_ library.”

Summoned by a gesture she had not seen, a young sentinel stepped from shadow into the light of the alcove. Though younger, she knew that face that greeted her. His face was that of one whom would one day be called ‘sorrow’. He fell to bended knee before his goddess, his head bowed low. She could see the adoration within the lines of his face, even tilted away from her as it was. She had not expected such an unrestrained show of emotion, though it was certainly meant to be hidden.

“Help Fen’allan find the book she needs, it should be where I left it.” Mythal’s gaze betrayed no emotions for the sentinel before her. She turned a final look upon Ellana as she rose from her seat. “I will speak to Elgar’nan and make the arrangements. You will know the moment you have been granted access as Fen’harel may be less than pleased.”

Mischievous was the final smile that was given to Ellana as she made her way to the entrance of the alcove, pausing only to speak one last time: “You may take the book when it is found. Consider it an early gift.”

Mythal vanished from sight before Ellana could reply or give her thanks. Baffled into silence, she stared after where the goddess had departed until the sentinel rose from his kneel. The look he cast her was far from pleased, and a look he would one day give her again.

“This way.” His words were without emotion or rhythm, quick and harsh to the ears. He turned without hesitation and strode further into the library, without a care whether or not she followed him. 

Ellana jumped from her seat to give chase as he turned the corner and further into the labyrinth that twisted and turned into various directions.

“What are you called?” 

He did not halt nor slow in the slightest as she spoke, “you don’t need to know.”

“But--“

The sentinel raised a hand to silence her and continued through each turn in silence. She did not attempt further discussion, as they would lead nowhere with his refusal to acknowledge even her presence.

They came to a stop once they had reached the center, where the eluvian stood as a beacon that symboled the end of the maze. He gestured for her to remain where she stood while he fetched a book from the nearby desk. He was gentle as he lifted it, cradling it in his hands until he closed the distance between them once again. 

He shoved it at her, only releasing once he had been certain both hands held it firmly. 

“You may keep that one. And, your sentinel seeks you.”

He left her to find her own way out of the maze. 


	15. Our Day (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This chapter took far longer to edit than I would have liked and I'm still not finished typing the rest of the draft. There are an equal amount of pages typed as their are still as a draft. This chapter is 4k words, it's safe to assume that the remainder will be the same.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this part. Further notes will come upon the completion of this next chapter.
> 
> Thank you again for all of your support and comments!

Ellana did not read the book immediately, cautious as the book had no written title upon the cover nor the spine. Mythal's vague warnings also brought a further desire for caution and patience in relation to the book and the information she sought. The spell would be risky, Dorian had said that much in the brief period they had spoken of it.

She stared at it well into the night, fingers teasing along the edges as if to open the book but never going quite that far. She danced between decision and indecision until exhaustion took hold and lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

Fen'harel's aura pressed upon her own later, a gentle caress, fleeting like a lover who just returned home but did not want to wake their partner. She stirred from her sleep, despite his attempt not to disturb her sleep. He likely did not know how attuned to him she was already. 

Before sleep claimed her again, she pushed the book beneath her pillow.

He was at her door hours later, arriving before the sun could rise to greet its lover; he stepped in, quiet, but his aura was more than enough to announce himself. She stirred, only to indicate that she was aware of him. Her aura pushed back against his, a gentle kiss of contact before she nestled deeper into the pillows and blankets. 

Light filled the room in the next moment as the hearth was lit by his magic, making no attempt to wake her immediately. He stopped at another point in her room before she felt him sink down onto the bed beside her. She rolled over, but did not open her eyes to greet him. Her face pressed into him, using him as a pillow instead.

"Good morning, ma da'sa," he spoke, soft and warm with laughter that he did not release.

"Mm. Good morning... I thought you'd be busy for a few more days? 

His hands were upon her, rolling her onto her back to face the light that filled the room. A mock sunrise made of flame, but her arm covered her face to block the day while her lips curled into a sleepy smile. He made a sound of amusement as he carefully pried her arm away.

"I finished early," His voice was a breath away, brushing against her lips. His lips brushed against hers in the next moment, teasing, taunting, bidding her to open her eyes. "I come to give you your gift, if only you would rise so that I may feed you, first."

She laughed against his lips, lazily, brushing hers against his once more before she opened her eyes to see him. She had missed the quiet intimacy of their relationship to come, the soft kisses and gentle whispers in the morning before he would sneak back to his rotunda as if he had never spent the night with her. He pulled away and her hand followed to stroke against his cheek in an attempt to hold the memories longer.

But, he was not entirely the same. He wore his pleasure openly, confident, cocky, youthful and full of a pride Solas had dared not show. She rested her hand behind his neck and the other came to join the first as he pulled further away and drew her into a seated position. He leaned in again once she was in position, his lips teasing hers once more with gentle nibbles of a kiss.

"What's my gift?" 

He laughed against her lips before sealing them together again.

As he broke away from her, he replied, “That much shall remain a surprise. As a reward for your patience."

Freeing himself from her arms, he rose from the bed to fetch a tray from the chair that sat before the mirror. Again, it was filled with small, finely cut pieces of fruits, meats, and cheeses. It was enough to fill her stomach, but not enough to be considered a full meal. He sat beside her again, the tray nestled upon his lap. 

Ellana reached for a piece of fruit, but his hand caught hers as he had once before.

"Let me?"

She hummed, her lips curled into a teasing smile. "Are we not in a rush, ma fen? You'll take hours if I allow you to feed me."

He hesitated, and relented, freeing her hand to allow her to grab the morsel on her own. 

"I would take my time, but we are not in so much of a rush that you need to eat quickly." He placed the tray beside her, keeping it stead as he rose from the bed. "Allow me to choose your outfit instead?" 

"If you so desire,” There was no reason to deny his request.

She ate as he searched through her wardrobe, her gaze remained upon him curiously to see what he would choose. As she cleared the tray, he pulled out a variety of dresses and outfits before he settled on a dress she had yet to wear; a carefully woven gown made to her measurements rather than woven with magic in the fabric and seams. It would flow and billow between her legs, making it impractical for rapid movements nor did it have any practical application. 

It would be a hazard to wear in a fight, though she had done little outside of training.

Ellana shoved the final pice of fruit into her mouth as she placed the tray upon the bedside table, determined not to keep Fen'harel waiting. She caught his gaze and her heart skipped a beat, fluttering at the content look upon his features. He continued to delve down familiar territory, drawing her into memories that she held dear; he tore her between two times, his present and his future.

She stared, unmoving, unwilling to break the moment. 

She feared losing him, losing this when she knew she would lose it one day soon. And then she would lose it again upon her return.

"There's that look again," His voice slipped into her thoughts, "so lost and full of pain."

He closed the distance between them, his hands reaching for hers as he moved. She blinked away the expression, the memories of the future and hid it with a smile before he could ask any further.

Her hands slipped into his, and he held back his questions to lead her before the mirror where he turned her to face it. 

His hands fell away as she freed herself from her robes, the fabric fell away with ease and pooled at her feet. She kicked it away, gently, lazily before he helped her step into the dress. 

Fingers teased along her legs as they drew the fabric upwards, teasing along her thighs as if making a path for the dress to follow. She shivered for each touch, for the intimacy of the motions. Her breath caught in her throat, ceasing all attempt at words before she even dared to think them. Solas had never reached such level of intimacy with her before. It was one thing to undress a partner, and another to help them dress. Fen'harel did not have the level of caution Solas held, disregarding all walls that would bind them. 

He treated her like a lover, as if they had always been together, for centuries. They were not two souls who had been united by happenstance in this moment.

His fingers trailed over her stomach as he pulled the bodice up and over her waist before his hands guided the straps over her shoulders and then binding them into place. He lead them down again, around her waist before tying them into a bow at her side.

Fen'harel crossed into another realm of intimacy as his lips pressed against the exposed skin of her shoulder, whispers of compliments upon his lips as he did. In the mirror, he caught her eyes and she saw an image of gentle love, one that was not new, but as old as time itself and unhindered by the trials to come. Solas had never worn such an expression, no matter how soft he allowed himself to be around her. 

Ellana became lost in the sight of him, unable to tear her gaze away. 

She should stop this before it became more, should stop her heart from wanting more. But, she was too far gone already; she could not resist anymore. 

Fen'harel's lips trailed away from her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire upon her skin where he pressed each kiss as he worked up towards her neck and to the base of her ear. He nibbled along the lobe, up along the edge and stopped upon the tip. She could not restrain the moan that crossed her lips, could not keep her legs straight as they buckled. She leaned back into him, and he smiled against her ear. His hands kept her steady, her reaction anticipated. 

He met her gaze in the mirror, and she saw a devilish mischief in his eyes before he spoke.

"We'll be playing a game today."

"A game?" Her voice sounded strange, distant and more breath than voice.

He helped her stand once more, only to guide her into the chair before the mirror shortly after. His fingers found her hair the moment she was settled, and freed the locks from carefully woven braids.

"For today, I will be less than a god and play the role of one of the few lords loyal to Fen'harel. It will suit our needs far better than the guise of a servant."

Laughter escaped in a short burst as the attempt to restrain it came too late. Her cheeks colored while he grinned wider, a wicked hint hidden amongst the mischief as he brushed her hair free of their former restraints.

It should have been no surprise that this was his game; In Halam'shiral, she had wondered how Solas had fit so seamlessly into the role of servant when he had given no hint at previously being one. She did not imagine that any apostate would have been taken on as a servant by humans so easily. She had wondered why he had been so at ease with the Game that had left her questioning. Now it was obvious that he played such a game often, fitting into the role that was required of him. 

Even that of an elven apostate. 

"So," she spoke smoothly, her tone teasing as her eyes reflected the mischief she had often seen in his eyes, "you play this sort of game often."

"You know me well, ma'sa." The mischief in Fen'harel's eyes took a touch of affection. She had not fallen into his silent urging for her to ask more information.

Finishing with her hair, he moved the wavy locks to fall more naturally in place, rather than binding or styling it in any particular fashion. Once he was satisfied with the look, he moved to stand before her with his hand extended for hers. There was no hesitation in slipping her hand into his, nor in curling her fingers around his hand and helping herself to her feet. And once she was at his side, she laced her fingers through his.

He did not pull away, instead, twining his own to bind them more firmly.

"Tell me," she spoke as he guided her towards the door, "how _does_ a god hide amongst the People?"

"Very easily, if one can trick their eyes and senses to neglect the truth. To make them see only what you place before them as truth. The eyes are easiest to deceive, while the senses take some work." He paused, dramatic, as they crossed the hallway. "By pulling my aura inwards, I can manipulate it to fit my mask. And thus, the senses are tricked." 

"Are you going to teach me?"

"No. Not yet. When you are ready for such lessons, I will teach you. Until then, we will focus on your other training. It will take additional strength to hide the mark upon your hand."

His magic rippled suddenly to life, teasing against her skin and sparking against her own magic. She felt it run along her arms, up to her head and down to the tips of her toes. It was like electricity coursed through her, hot, but not painful. She welcomed the feeling of him, but shivered as she felt his aura twist with her own. Fen'harel's faded from existence in the next moment, as if he had vanished completely. The hand in her own remained as a reminder of him, proof that he was still there beside her if she were not to use her eyes.

She ventured a glance in his direction, curious, and saw a face unfamiliar looking back at her. There were no hints of Fen'harel or Solas in the lines of the mask, only the hint of mischief in the eyes that none would know how to spot if they did not know the god well.

He was a man with a prominent, squared jawline; it was stronger than his normal look, more shapely.His nose was a touch wider, the bridge crooked as if it had once been broken. Lips were fuller, a touch more red than pink, twisted into his familiar smile but looking far more dreadful upon this mask. His eyes were a dull brown, hints of yellow mixed in but not so obvious upon first glance. They were lovely, but they did not pull her the way Fen'harel's did. 

Ellana stared at him and tried to find him beneath the mask he wore, beneath this other person that stood beside her. The image of him began to distort, as if she were staring through a barrier that was meant to hide something beyond it. Glimpses of Fen'harel peeked through the longer she stared, and the more clear it became as her eyes strained. 

Blinking, she tried to relieve her eyes and lost sight of the clarity she had gained. 

"Good eye, ma'sa. No illusion is ever perfect, and it is easily broken once you know what you seek. Truth fractures the image, and allows you to see what it hides." He paused, lifting her hand to his lips. His kiss was gentle while his lips were curled into a wicked smile. "It is rare, however, that any look beyond themselves or what is presented to them as truth."

She had been such a person, once. Though, she had not searched hard enough for the truth that surrounded him. She would have never fathomed to think that Solas was a mask of Pride that the wolf had worn. 

"For today, call me 'Varunin', as a whisper of my name will present a truth for curious eyes to grasp," He continued speaking as they crossed from the hall into the foyer of the Temple, “you should consider a name for yourself as we travel to our destination. You are not so commonly known that a change in name will cause issue, for now."

_Ellana..._

She wanted to hear her name upon his lips once more, to hear him call her as she was and not by the mask she unintentionally was given.

_'Don't be foolish.'_ The Well admonished suddenly, the voices a harsh reminder of her situation. At least they had been silent thus far.  

They were right, in the end. It would be foolish and selfish to allow him to know her name. There could be no predicting how Solas would respond upon the mark being placed upon her hand in his future. The course of things could be changed and the future she returned to would not be her own. In this time, she was at the mercy of what was to come. She could not make an impact that would effect everything she knew all for the sake of one moment.

He allowed her silence as they traveled through the Temple. The few that were awake paid them little mind, or bowed their heads in greeting. The sight of them would be no surprise to the denizens of Fen'harel's Temple; They knew their god well, and it could only be suspected that he would include his creation is such matters.

Down the stairs and through the gardens they traveled, only the sound of their steps greeting them as few creatures stirred when the sun had yet to breach the horizon.

When they reached the eluvian, he guided her up the steps, their hands still laced firmly together as if they had became knotted through the walk. She was reluctant to let go, even as he turned her to face him. She did not avoid his gaze, and met his look of mischief with an indulgent smile.

"Have you thought of a name?"

"Thashala."

His lips curled into a peculiar smile as he pondered over the name. His eyes grew brighter, though curiosity remained; he did not ask what question came to the tip of his tongue and pulled her close instead. His lips brushed along her forehead that left a heated mark upon her skin once he drew away. Subtle hints of magic lingered where his lips had been.

"Your aura is now hidden, as I have matched mine with yours. A precaution, if you will." He did not explain further than that, his eyes spoke of his intentions to leave it at that. She did not ask. His hand lifted hers once more, another kiss was pressed upon the back. "Your mark has been muted. To sing softer, only to be found through the Fade. Hiding it would take more time and work than we have for today." 

He stepped back, his hand slipped from hers as he admired his handiwork. Fen'harel's smile became prideful, confident, and almost boastful. "You are so beautiful."

Yet, as he spoke, his words melted into something softer. Something more gentle and loving rather than arrogant and hard. She could not resist the bubble of laughter that came, allowing it to slip free.

She put the rest of the world behind them. Today, they were in another world; a woman and man, unbound by responsibilities. A couple who needn't worry about what was to come. They had all the time in the world.

"Sweet talker."

Fen'harel drew her into him and turned her to face the eluvian. She saw no reflection, only the glimpse of the Crossroads in the rippling surface. Darkness came in the guise of soft silk that covered her eyes. He bound it loosely, but granted no space for her to see. 

"What--" His lips pressed against her ears, and she shivered for the softly spoken words.

"Until we arrive, I shall be your eyes."

Laughter came more easily now, “If that's what you desire, ma fen."

Fen'harel's hands came to rest upon her shoulders, firm but gentle as they encompassed her. She leaned back into him and let him lead, relenting all control for today. He guided her with gentle steps, and soft spoken words to ensure that she would come to no harm as they stepped through the rippling surface of the mirror.

Traveling through the eluvian while blinded was an entirely new experience. With one sense dulled, the others sharpened to compensate. Her skin felt the magic more intensely as it trailed up her skin, bringing her hair to stand on end like the gentle shock of electric spells. Fen'harel's hands felt warner, heavier, a firm reminder of his presence, intensified. 

As quickly as it began, it came to an end.

He guided her through the Crossroads, her time yesterday gave her no chance to fully memorize what lie where. She could not guess the path they were taking, nor what mirror they would approach. Her hands lifted to grasp Fen'harel's wrists for further support as he guided her through the next eluvian. 

The second time ended far more quickly than the first.

Beneath her feet, she felt cool stone but nothing distinctive. No moss peeked through the cracks in a defiance of what was built.

"A temple?" She wondered, aloud, seeking answers once more.

"Not quite," He spoke against her ear, his voice hushed. "Patience, ma'sa. You will enjoy your gift much more."

They spoke no further as he began to guide her along the stone covered ground. She found no discerning features, nothing that gave hint as to where they tread. Her curiosity grew as stone turned to soft grass, covered in a morning dew. The blades twined with her toes as she kept her feet closer to the ground, slowly breaking her resolve not to lift the blindfold.

The sound of running water reached her ears as he guided her to a stop, drawing further confusion and intrigue of their location. They had gone from stoned-paved ground to grass and nature in the span of minutes.

"Where are we, F-- Varunin?"

"One more moment,” He promised as his hands released her to tease with the blindfold around her eyes. 

She fidgeted with impatience, her hands itching to free her eyes.

Darkness fell away in the next moment.

They stood in a small grove, a strange sort of garden where crystals were formed to the shapes of the natural ones they stood beside. Even the natural trees had crystals that twined through their branches, and settled amongst the leaves like blossoms, amongst the buds that had yet to bloom. 

Ellana turned to take more in, and saw a brook beside her, the bottom lined with colorful rocks and gems of different varieties. A waste, to line the ground with them but further proof of what would come to change. Glowing fish filled the water, with fins lavish and flowing. Their light reflected upon the gems, illuminating them in the hours when the sun could not.They kissed along the surface in search for food that they did not find.

Curious as to there it ran, her gaze followed the flow of water until it reached the end of the garden, where it flowed off into the sky, into the horizon.

A city floating in the sky.

She turned from the horizon to see behind her; the city skyline greeted her beyond the trees. The city they had passed through stood tall with golden towers and crystal spires. They would be more imposing from another setting, less intimidating when viewed from behind the trees. Again, it spoke of the change in times. Spoke of the power of the Elvhen before they would fall. 

Finally, she turned to Fen'harel. Her cheeks burned with embarrassmentat seeing his gaze upon her, so fascinated in her reaction. 

"This is beautiful,F-- Varunin."

His smile was dazzling, she grew warmer beneath its intensity. His eyes were alight with emotion, not so easily hidden beneath his mask. But he said not a word as his hands found her shoulders and turned her to face the skyline once more. She was certain she had heard him say _something_ but it became lost when she saw the rising sun.  

What had seemed brilliant before was nothing compared the moment the sun hit the crystal spires. Light refracted and danced along the towers of gold, making them them shine a brilliant shade of gold akin to that of a sunset rather than the unimpressive shade of sunrise.

Some lights ventured from the city into the garden where they stood, the light touching upon the crystal trees and the branches of their living counterparts.The flower buds woke as the light touched upon them, opening to greet the morning with their iridescent petals that shone just as brilliantly as the towers of polished gold. 

It was another frivolous use of magic; it was beautiful.

Her breath caught in her throat and words failed her.

She turned to Fen'harel, awed and amazed. His smile grew wider as he pressed his forehead to hers, their noses brushing with the slightest of contact.

"Are you pleased with my gift, ma'sa? Shall I give you the rest?"

"Yes," she breathed out as her throat cleared way for the words,"please."

"Wonderful, as our day has only just begun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, curious for thoughts on smut. I've been debating it. Keep them here? Optional marked chapter? Within the same chapter? Or moved to Sul'da'eraen all together?
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3


	16. Our Day (Part Two)

Fen'harel drew away from her while fingers trailed down along her arm to catch her hand in his. And as Ellana laced her fingers with his, he took a step back to guide her from the garden. Easily, she fell into the pace that he set, leisurely and almost aimless. 

"Arlathan has a few wonders that I know will catch your eye. You enjoyed being in the forest, I felt this would be the best place for us to start."

All but one of the words he had spoken faded from her mind. Her step faltered, just a fraction as she reeled.

"Arlathan? _This_ is Arlathan?" Emotions took hold, ones that she could give no name; her throat tightened with the sudden grip of emotion and she fought to keep them restrained. 

Ellana stood in Arlathan, the city that her people had glorified and tried to rebuild. The city that they told stories of but could only dream of. And she was no different, as a child, picturing what such a great city would have been like for the elves. She had longed to see what they had once built.

It was no longer a simple imagining of a young girl. It was part of her reality as she _walked_ through it, something none of her people would ever do again. No one would believe--

"Does this not please you?" Fen'harel's voice pulled her back to her reality.

"Oh! No. It's wonderful. I just did not know what to expect.When-- I am looking forward to seeing more."

He hesitated, skeptical of her reassurance before he allowed a smile to touch upon his lips. "Of course, whatever you desire shall be yours."

There was a heavy weight to his words that she dared not speak on as guilt tugged upon her heart. Instead, she focused on the butterflies in her stomach, the giddiness of romance, and forced away all reminders that had nothing to do with this moment that was theirs. Her cheeks flushed with a gentle warmth as his fingers twined with hers more firmly, intent on showing their status together as he lead them deeper into the city.

He was so open with this relationship, their relationship, which Solas had hesitated to show in public. He would speak with certain hints that _implied_ but had never been so bold as to openly declare their relationship. Looks were shared, of course, and others had taken note but nothing had ever been so openly confirmed nor declared. 

And she had been content with that, knowing that he cared for her was enough.

Her fingers tightened around his, selfishly. 

If anything, she could have this to remember.

She forced her thoughts to return to the city they traveled through, taking in the details the Dalish would someday forget. None would believe what she told them, but it would be enough that one of the People remembered... That the Lavellan Clan remembered, at the very least. 

The roads were made of stone painted gold to match the towers that stood above them, pristine and clean, without so much as a smudge despite the fact that they were traveled upon frequently. It was reminiscent to Mythal's Temple, had it not been touched by the hands of time. No hints of life dared to peek though the cracks between the stones, only the flowers in pots and decorations had been allowed to thrive in their planned existence. Decorations of each god lined the various homes and storefronts, each declaring whom they swore their loyalty to. 

None represented the Dread Wolf.

Only the crystal spires went without representation of the gods, they were too delicate to decorate in that fashion. They were the more lavish of the dwellings -- she assumed that they showed their patronage inside.

From the towers and spires came servants and slaves, exiting from doors on the side as they started their days. Some went with empty baskets and some set to cleaning already pristine streets. They paid them no mind in their guise of Lord and Lady, not wanting to draw wrath by acknowledging them with more than a look. She hesitated, briefly, but quickly returned to pace with Fen'harel.

Lords and Ladies ventured out next, leisurely walking, in outfits lavish and extravagant, even for what appeared to be a simple stroll across the street to greet their neighbors. They caught their attention, only for a brief moment before their gaze moved on and they began their daily gossip.

_"Did you hear about Andruil?"_

Ellana hesitated again, and even Fen'harel's steps faltered for a brief moment. He regained composure and guided her further in, their pace a step quicker than before.

They passed by shops, not yet open in this early hour, that displayed their wares through signs subtly placed upon their walls. Some showed lavish gowns, or simple attire. Some showed small trinkets made with magic, claiming to make life "easier" if one were to possess them. Shams, tricks, the luxury of their time again apparent. They did not worry over what would come, thinking their Empire would withstand for eternity.

She bit back the sorrow of what would come, and focused on her present. 

They walked down one more alleyway before they breached the city center where the majority of the nobles gathered. It looked to be a morning routine, some settled with plates of food and drink while others sat and chatted around only cups and a kettle upon the table. The rush of chatter hit her ears, the words mingled together to a point where she could not distinguish one conversation for the other.

Further, still, they walked to where the large visage of Mythal -- the one seen in many of the elven ruins -- stood in the center, a fountain all about her. It, too, was painted gold to fit the setting of the city. The surrounding part of the fountain was a soft, marble colored white to match the crystal spires but lacking in their brilliance. A few sat along the edges, chatting softly as well.

_"They say that she's stopped patrolling her forests."_

Ellana hesitated again as she turned to find the source of the voice, the whisper the same as before. She did not see any of those who had stood behind them before but the voice had remained the same. Fen'harel's hand tightened in hers, concern etched into his brow as she turned to face him. 

"I apologize if their whispers bother you, ma'sa. It is unusually crowded today..." 

"No, it's fine... Some just stood out more than others." The squeeze she gave his hand was meant to reassure, "it would take more than whispers to shake me."

His features relaxed yet the concern remained, hidden behind the smile that settled into place. "Interesting. What would it take for your will to waver, I wonder."

It wavered now, on the precipice of this moment. It wavered between her selfish desires and an understanding of what his future held. It wavered now with how she _loved_ him but could never say, should never say. 

"You may never know." She teased, her smile came easily, full of the affection that she would not speak.

It was a lie, however. He would know, one day, what had caused her will to waver -- when she would be a human god's herald, fumbling and lost, when she would turn to him for guidance in a position she had never asked for nor wanted. His future and her past. And he would never know they were one in the same.

"Let us continue on. The fountain only holds so much appeal, and it is far too crowded to enjoy it in peace."

"Of course."

Their course changed as easily, shifting in one fluid motion away from the fountain and into the city once more, their direction opposite of their previous course and leading into a new part of Arlathan. Her gaze wandered still, though the scenery did not entirely change, the shops and homes did in their own little ways that screamed out against what was expected. Not enough to change the look of the city, but simply enough to be individualized to the shop or resident's tastes. 

As they came into a fork upon their path, Fen'harel hesitated, drawing her to a stop.

"Did you want to go to our final destination or shall we get something to eat, first?"

Though time had passed, the day had not seemed that long. There had not been enough time for her to consider their day done.

"Let's eat. I'd rather the day last as long as possible rather than venture to our final stop so soon."

His eyes spoke of mischief that he did not voice. 

"How selfish of you," he teased as his hand lifted hers to his lips, indulgent and selfish all at once. He pressed a kiss to her palm, drawing laughter from her that she did not try to restrain. The whispers lingered in her mind, but she forced them to be forgotten again. 

As he lowered her hand, she pulled him in closer, turning to face him as her hand lifted to rest upon the back of his neck.She drew him down into her, her lips teasing along his in a display that she did not care if others saw. Her lips curled into a smile against his, teasing one last kiss before she spoke again.

"You are the most selfish of them all, ma fen." 

Fen'harel's mouth teased against hers, lips curled into a grin before he kissed her again. Fingers twined into her hair as he drew her closer; his tongue teased at her lips and she melted into him, her own lips parting. He stole her breath away in that moment, leaving her gasping when he finally pulled away. Mischief was evident in his gaze, mixed with a hunger she had never seen in his eyes before. That was answer enough to her statement: he did not disagree.

He drew away, only to guide her away from where they stood, and further into the center of the city. Her blood burned, her head was light. She tried not to sway against him as the fire consumed her, ignited further by the eyes of onlookers upon her. 

She attempted to pay them no mind, granting her attention to Fen'harel alone but whispers were not so easily drowned out. 

_"I heard she grew tired of hunting mortal men."_

And when she turned again, she could see none who were whispering of the goddess. Nor could she see their eyes upon them, their focus was elsewhere. She felt Fen'harel's hand tighten upon her, subtle but the shift was there. She dared to steal a look at him once more, but saw only the mask of neutrality upon his features. Gone was the mischievous god again, replaced by the Lord he claimed to be.

They came to a stop at what appeared to be similar to a tavern; like the ones she had seen when she lead the Inquisition, but far different from what the human's of her time had made. It was clean and just as extravagant as anything else in the ancient city. And when they entered, she saw only nobles and well-off elves at the tables. No slave nor servants were present in this place -- aside from those cleaning the tables.

Fen'harel lead them to a table settled in a small nook, away from others but with the ability to see what was going on before them. He drew a chair out for her to sit, leaning in as she sat herself upon the plush cushion. His lips brushed against her ear with a promise to return. He left her shivering in his wake, and her gaze followed until he suddenly was lost in the crowd. 

_"I hear she hunts the Forbidden Ones, deep within the Void."_

A chill ran down her spine, the fire in her blood had suddenly ran cold. She quivered, but not in the desire Fen'harel had left. None were close enough for the whispers to be heard so clearly; she dared a look around, looking for a familiar face to find who had followed them throughout Arlathan. 

There sat a young noble man, whom dawned himself with trinkets that spoke of Falon'din. He met her gaze and looked just as bewildered as she. He smiled, the slightest uplift of the corners of his lips. He turned to his companion and spoke, but she could not hear what passed between them.

It was not him who had spoken.

Both turned to her, suddenly, a smile upon their lips and a curiosity settled in the wrinkles of their eyes. The noble of Falon'din rose from his seat while his companion remained. He started towards her, deliberate and slow.

She heard movement beside her and the noble stopped. He turned away and her gaze was pulled from him as she looked to where Fen'harel now stood. His brows were drawn into a frown, his emotions still masked in the unfamiliar face. 

"What happened?" She asked as her hand caught his.

Fen'harel did not pull away, caution and concern growing more prominently in the lines of his face. He hesitated before he lifted her hand to his lips, soothing them across her knuckles. A gentle comfort and reassurance, meant more for himself than her.

"Nothing." 

Ellana's concern only grew for the answer, but she said nothing further to try and pull answers from the man. Solas had not answered every question she asked, or found a way around giving those answers. Even now, she had no doubts that Fen'harel would do the same despite his promise to trust her. 

And she could not judge him harshly as she was doing the same.

Their meal arrived not long after and he only released her hand to arrange their plates. Each plate contained a small sampler, and together, would provide more than enough for a full meal. She lifted her gaze to ask him about each dish and saw the wolf's gaze upon her, lips curled into that familiar grin that signaled all his concerns had been abandoned -- for now, at least.

Again, he insisted on feeding her. This time, she did not resist. This time, she indulged herself as well as him.

Her lips wrapped around his fingertips with each morsel he fed her, her tongue teasing him as much as he had teased her before.

Solas had never done anything like this. 

Her heart ached with guilt the more she melted into him, unable to resist his whims. Nor did she have any desire to resist where he lead her.

When they finally left, the sun was lower in the sky; a harsh reminder of the day drawing to an end. Her heart was torn again with her selfish desire as she bid time to stop, to let this day last a little longer. And when Fen'harel laced his fingers with hers, she tightened her grip in a wish to never let him go.

Neither of them spoke as they began to walk again, the wolf once more taking the lead. He gave no indication of where they traveled, only traveling down yet another unfamiliar path. He bid her a smile, softer than before, not so full of mischief as the others. This smile was hers, one that she had only seen on Solas' lips when he was speaking to her. She could not resist the smile she gave in return as they traveled further into the city. 

The sun set behind the skyline of the city, a brilliant gold sunset that made the golden towers and crystalline spires glimmer to vainly show one last display for the day. And when they stopped, a building made made of gold-lined stone stood before them. She could feel the raw magic of the building from where they stood, unburdened, unrestrained. 

"F-- Varunin?" Her question came only as his name, her voice unable to rise above a whisper.

She turned to him, curious and caught him staring. His gaze was intense, brilliant but dulled behind those unfamiliar eyes. She felt her cheeks grow hot for the intensity at which he watched her, for the affection that was so blatant upon his features. Yet, there was hesitation despite it all.

"This is Arlathan's library. Since you favor reading, I thought you would enjoy spending the rest of the day here?"

_'Yes.'_ The Well's voice was a distant whisper, suddenly faded when it had once been so clear.

She did not want to hear it.

Her hand tightened upon Fen'harel's. overwhelmed, desperate; as if he knew what, exactly, he was offering.

"Yes, but... Not today." 

Selfishly, she did not want this day to end. Selfishly, she was delaying the inevitable by refusing to seek the knowledge now. She drew Fen'harel in, her arms lifted to wrap around his neck. He leaned in before she could pull him any closer, his lips meeting hers in understanding.

"We should not spend the last hours of _our_ day among books." She whispered against his lips. He smiled as he teased another kiss over her lips. "Take me home."

Today, his home would be hers.

"Ma nuvenin." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for the names, I noticed that elven naming conventions can be words strung together to form an overall meaning. With that in mind, I decided to have some fun with the names both Ellana and Fen'harel decided to take.
> 
> Varunin - Our Alone Day
> 
> Thashala - Woman Who Loves Eternal
> 
> Thank you for reading everyone! 
> 
> As a note: I decided to put the following smut into Sul'da'eraen and that will be up sometime soon.


	17. OPTIONAL: Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is titled "OPTIONAL" for NSFW content. If anyone wishes to avoid that, skip this chapter.

He left her breathless, gasping for air when there was none.

He breathed life into her when his lips met hers again, softly, coaxing her further into him. His mouth was soft against hers, gentle, but still demanding -- of only what she was willing to give. Their kiss was all give and take, from both sides; there was no war for dominance or to lead the other. They were understanding, a mutual longing, a _need_ that burned them both.They played no games of the mind, no fixation on gaining the upper hand. Especially when Ellana was more than content to melt into him, and he into her.

They broke apart, only a breath away before they kissed again. They kissed as they stepped through the eluvian, even as the magic sent shivers along her skin that left her hair standing. They kissed as they stepped into the library, away from the mirror. They kissed like teens who snuck behind their Keeper's back to find limited time alone, desperate not to be caught as they were. 

Fen'harel's mouth caught her bottom lip, drawing it in to tease his tongue along it while his hands grasped her ass. He hoisted her up with ease, her breath escaped in a rush for how weightless he made her feel in the air. Her heart fluttered in response, a silly, giddy emotion that made her almost forget that this was only temporary. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she marveled at how much larger he was than the elven men of her time had been. 

"If we do not leave now, I shall have you against a shelf." He groaned against her mouth. She loved the way his voice strained, the way his lilt quaked with desire. She loved hearing him speak. 

"I wouldn't protest." She teased as she leaned in for another kiss, her lips brushing against his, a caress but nothing more. 

She was pushing were she could, to see where the younger wolf's restraint would break.

Instead of breaking, his expression sobered. He closed the distance between their lips in a kiss, gentle, sweet, a far cry from before. He pulled back to meet her eyes, his own hardened with serious intent. Never before had Fen'harel displayed such a look. Solas had worn a similar look on occasion and so rarely had they been directed towards her. She sobered in echo of his gaze while her eyes sought his for answers. . 

"Not for your first time. I would see you comfortable and worshipped rather than ravaged by an animal."All seriousness melted away in an instant as his lips found hers again, fleeting. "Another time. When we can be tangled together for centuries."

Her laughter was soft against his lips before she pressed in for another kiss, one that he quickly indulged with a fervor renewed. Whatever guilt had began to grow as a result of his words were pushed away. There was no need to linger on such thoughts until morning. She lost herself further in the kiss as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and one hand twined into the ends of his hair, twisting idle curls. 

He fled them from the library, purpose behind every step of his stride. She teased her lips along his jaw, committing the lines of him once more to memory. A different memory, one that was just for him as he was. As she trailed down his neck, nips replaced teasing kisses along with gentle puffs of laughter in echo of the rhythm of his steps. As she switched sides, teeth teased along his neck with gentle bites that left mo marks. His breathing changed, his pulse quickened against her lips as she pressed them against his skin to hide the smile that threatened.

Steps faltered as nips became bites, teeth pressing into his skin only enough for him to feel but leaving no markings. His breath hitched and was held, only expelled when she trailed her bites downwards. She stopped at the junction where his neck and shoulder met. His muscles tightened, his steps stumbled until he caught himself against a wall. One hand held her still while the other pressed into the stone, an attempt to regain composure. She could picture his face: lips parted for each ragged breath he drew, eyes half-lidded with desire, and his cheeks colored to match the shade of red the tips of his ears. 

Her teeth sank into the junction of his neck. 

She heard him _moan._

The words he spoke next came out guttural: she could not make out the words for a translation though that did not stop the flame that ignited within her. She did not need to know the words to understand the intent. Her hips ground forward in a need for friction as she kissed over the mark she had left upon his skin. 

It took effort for him to push away from the wall. She felt his muscles quiver against her and his hand tightened upon her until the second joined the first.Ellana continued to tease along his neck until she reached the side opposite. She made a temporary mark upon his skin that mirrored the first. He faltered but did not stop this time, his moan sounded deep in his throat. 

She didn't remember crossing the door, only the absence of his hand upon her. Everything came quicker when the obstacle was cleared: his mouth was upon hers again, hungry and deliberate. He didn't need to see to know where his bed was in comparison to the door. His mana flared outwards, swallowing her into an ocean of him. A spell was cast , the manipulation of the Fade tingled along her skin, rippling the flow of his magic around him. Her eyes registered the light that filled the room, candles all illuminated in an instant. His aura reached for hers, a gentle nudge, an askance for hers. It was easier to wrap her aura into his, twisting them together as he lowered her onto the bed. 

The touch of the furs against the bare skin of her back suddenly seemed to amplify, the contact alone brought a whimper to her lips. Every part of her sang, the magic in her veins amplified with his mana around them and his aura tangled with hers. It was like when she had first arrived: she felt more _alive_ in this world where the Fade was everywhere, magic unrestrained. She felt _whole,_ surrounded and wrapped in Fen'harel. 

He hummed in appreciation, his lips teasing gentle kisses from the corner of her lips down along the line of her jaw. Each brush of his lips sent a jolt of desire down to her core, to the tips of her toes. The contact amplified with her sensitivity. Her breaths left in soft whimpers, her head tilted back to expose more of herself to him.  

As he pulled away, her gaze was drawn up to him. His hair surrounded his face, casting a shadow over him as he looked down at her. She saw the unashamed adoration in the lines of his brows, the love in his eyes, so open and feely given when she had done nothing to deserve it. Her heart clenched tightly, guilt dug ugly black fingers in and tore at her. She _hurt_ all over again. She would lose him when she left, he would no longer be there, where she belonged. Her throat tightened with the sorrow that overwhelmed her. 

Concern pushed away all other emotions on his face, an indication that she had revealed far more than she had ever intended for him to see. Fen'harel leaned forward, his brow pressed to hers in comforting, loving support. He hid them in the curtain of his hair, blocking out everything else but him.

"There's no need--" 

The distance between them was easy to close, her nose brushed against his to silenced him with a kiss. Her fingers trailed through his hair, stroking and soothing. His lips worked with hers as he melted into the kiss before his teeth caught her bottom lip. He teased a nibble upon the skin before he broke away. His nose brushed against hers, leaving them only a small distance apart. 

"I want this. I want _you_." 

"And I you." He replied in earnest, his eyes bright even in the shadows. A smile crossed his lips, fleeting into a grin, playful and devious. He caught her lips in final kiss before he pulled away, leaving her with a promise that ignited her further. 

His mouth teased along her jawline, leaving tingling marks upon her skin for each kiss he placed upon her. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, holding back soft moans that threatened to escape with each breath she released. It was futile, in the end, as the marks pulsed steadily between hot and cold. She moaned, helplessly as he continued down along the line of her neck. Her feet found holding on the edge of the bed as she arched into him, her head tipped back for more. A silent demand that he indulged in, kissing more reverently. She breathed fire and felt electricity in the tips of her fingers. She expelled her mana against his, her aura pulling and pushing against his. He groaned against her neck, and his teeth sank into the same place that she had marked him.

" _Fen'harel,_ " she keened, desperate,"this is unfair."

Even the breath of his laughter brought a whimpered moan past her lips, another shiver down her spine while her legs squeezed together for friction.

"It is perfectly _fair_ , ma da'sa." He whispered, teasing as his lips trailed down to her collarbone, "I already burn for you."

Lips pressed gently against her collarbone, suckling the skin to leave a visible mark upon her skin. Her cry was strained as her hips ground forward, her legs pressed tighter together. She was coming undone and he had done little more than kiss her. Her made her want into a need. A need for more than his mouth, a need for him between her legs, filling her and taking her. She felt too hot, her clothes suddenly felt like too much, the fabric upon her skin driving her just as mad as everything else. Her hands found the bow of her dress, her fingers not quite catching to free herself.

Fen'harel's mouthleft her, and his hands caught hers. He drew them to rest above her head.

"Let me." He spoke an echo of his words in the morning, the pitch of his voice lower and laced with desire. She shivered but did not protest. 

He unbound the bow he had tied before, carefully pulling the fabric down while his fingers left hot trails in their wake as they teased upon skin as it was exposed to him. She hissed out a breath, hot and impatient. He grinned down at her as he had before, playful and teasing. He indulged himself, instead, his fingers trailing down along her calves and to the tips of her toes before he allowed the dress to fall to the floor. 

He pulled her closer to the edge of the bed as he kneeled there. His lips teased along the tips of her toes and she jolted upwards in response. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment more than desire, suddenly ashamed. She felt dirty, to have him kissing her feet that had been upon the ground. She looked down at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. His gaze met hers and held it firmly as his lips kissed along the arch of her foot to the inside of her ankle. Not once did he look away, his eyes darkened with desire. 

"W-What are you doing?" Her voice sounded strange, breathless and timid. .How strange of her to quake at a moment like this.  

He pressed another kiss to her ankle, slow, deliberate and she whimpered softly in response. "Worshipping you, every piece of you, until you forget your every name."

Lips continued upwards, along the inner part of her leg, stopping just below her knee while his eyes held hers. "Until your thoughts are all of me."

"H-How greedy," she laughed, soft and breathless. It ended in a cry as teeth bit into the skin of her thigh. 

Fen'harel continued upwards, his pace like torture. Gentle kisses and occasional nips with teeth until he reached her center. Only, he pulled away again. His gaze was torn from hers as he backed away. Her frustration was voiced in a hiss, especially as he started at the tips of her toes on her opposite leg. He repeated the actions from before, an exact replication of his steps. It was slow, meticulous. She fell back onto the bed, her hips arching up from the bed in a demand for what he would not give. It was torture; he was driving her from madness into insanity. Her hand trailed down her stomach instead of waiting for him any longer. She sought to find relief. 

His hand caught hers before she could find what she needed. He held it there, a breath away from her clit. His eyes caught hers again, darker now. She drew a breath, shaking in frustration.

"Not yet,” he spoke against her skin, burning her with his words. She shuddered in response, mesmerized by the rhythmic lilt of his voice that came through evenin such a fragmented sentence.

His mouth teased upwards, until all she could do was gasp for air and strain her hips forward, desperate for contact. She released a soft plea as his lips placed a final kiss at the apex of her thigh,. His breath teased over the lips of her core, but gave her no contact. She shook with the effort, her hips undulated forward to close the distance between them. 

" _Please._ " Ellana begged again, amidst a cry. 

His mouth was upon her as an answer, sucking her swollen clit between his lips. It was immediate, unlike the slow tease he had built before. Her cryin answer was loud, torn from her lips as his tongue lavished her with attention. His magic pulsed and the marks his lips had left before flared with an inferno that had her sobbing. 

The sounds she made barely registered as she writhed for each careful flick of his tongue. Her breathing grew rapid, her head swam with the lack of air, for the sensations that shot through her. Her fingers dug for support, the furs provided something though very little. She bucked as flame erupted from her hand, setting the furs aflame. Yet, she could not bring herself to feel embarrassment for it. Before she could register the thought to put out the flame, Fen'harel's magic flared that sent a cool chill along her skin, putting out the flames without so much as drawing away from her. 

She dared a look downwards. His eyes were upon her, watching, hunger within those blue depths. Desire shot through her, her head fell back with a moan, aching for him as she pressed into his mouth. 

He filled her with a single finger, joining with a second easily. They took a slow and steady pace that kept her on the brink ofcollapse, but never pushing her over the edge. She wanted to reach for him, to stroke along the back of his neck. A memory of the flames stopped her, and she curled a leg around his shoulder instead. She drewhim as close as she could manage, her hips grinding as much as he would allow her. Never enough. 

Teeth were carefully teased against her clit and her breath caught in her throat. It hit her in an instant: the white, hot burning desire. So close to breaking but not quite there. She couldn't _breathe_. His hand that held her wrist held her hips firmly so that she could not buck into him as his teeth gently pinched her clit between them. There was no pain, only a strangled cry that left her throat feeling raw.

" _Solas, please."_ She didn't hear her voice, didn't hear what words she said. She felt her tongue move, felt her throat strain with the effort to speak. She felt delusional, she felt close to tears as she reached for something she could not grab.

He slipped in a third finger, thrusts controlled and paced to match as his tongue began to tease once more. It took little work for her to shatter in his hands, into his mouth. Her leg curled tighter around him, her hips ground out and she sobbed with what air she could manage to fill her lungs with. Everything was hot, too hot. The world spun as she cried. His fingers withdrew and his mouth took over, coaxing the last of her orgasm out as long as he could until she could breathe again. 

Fen'harel lazily kissed his way upwards again, taking his time to explore her with his mouth. He reached the valley between her breasts and stopped to tease over each nipple, drawing out another whimpered moan from her lips. He continued again, up her neck, over his chin to capture her mouth with his. 

She smelled herself upon his lips. She moaned, wanton and his tongue slipped in, invited by her cry. She tasted herself upon his tongue and moaned, louder while her hips bucked in desire for him. She ached, still.  

He broke away, his forehead pressed into hers. 

"What's your name?" 

The question was an odd one. She met his gaze, and saw those intense eyes upon her, putting her mind into another fog.

"Ah... Ellana."

She froze at the slip. Her blood ran cold. She had never intended on telling him that truth of herself. He smiled and teased another kiss upon her lips. She did not resist nor did she relax as her hands found place on his shoulders to push him back.

"I'm sorry, ma'sa. I did not want to call you by names that were not your own. I am certain that it is... Disillusioning. Especially in such an intimate setting." His voice held an understanding that she had not expected. She wondered if Fen'harel had been a name he had taken upon becoming a god. A question best left for later. 

It was that much that made Ellana realize that she could not bring herself to faulthim on this. It would have been strange for him to call her Fen'allan in the throes of their passion. "It's fine, ma'fen. You are forgiven."

Surely, no harm would come from him knowing her name.  

He smiled for her, cocky, prideful. His question had been impulsive, she saw. He was everything Solas had said of himself. She laughed and drew him down to her, her arms wrapped around his neck and he kissed her firmly. His hands were upon her hips, guiding her to wrap her legs around his waist before he maneuvered their positions to where she sat with him below her. She pulled back to see him in the new lighting, unshadowed by him above her. His cheeks were colored, his hair spread like a halo about his head. His eyes were brighter in this angle. She was captured by how beautiful he was, captivated by every line of his face, and the look in his eyes. 

She would never forget this sight.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, an echo of his own thoughts. 

She did not speak the praises in her thoughts, leaning down to tease a kiss over his lips. She spoke in actions rather than words. She could not -- would not -- speak. If she allowed herself to, she feared that she would lose herself in him, forgo her plans and forget the duty that she had in the future.She could only hope that she would convey enough for him to know, in his present and future. 

_Ar lath ma, vhenan._

Fen'harel's hands trailed up her hips, fingers found her breasts and teased idly at her nipples as she leaned into him. She gave him more, while her hips lifted and a hand slipped between them. Her hand wrapped around his manhood and he groaned, loudly. She had pondered teasing him, to torment him to the limits as he had to her. But she wanted this as much as he.  

Her heart hesitated as she hovered just over him, on the precipice of change of what was between them. There would be no return once they crossed this line. His eyes caught hers. She did not tear her gaze away as she lowered herself down, filling herself with him, as slowly as she could manage. 

He broke eye contact first as his eyes rolled back, his back arched and he moaned, loudly. She bit her bottom lip to keep her cries to herself, so that she could hear him better, so that she could commit this to memory as she did with everything else. 

Only when she was completely full of him did she cry out her pleasure.

His hands came to her hips, their eyes met again and she began to move a slow and steady rhythm, following the beat of his heart that grew quicker with each careful thrust. He met her in each beat, an easy cooperation. He knew her, and she knew him. They were in unison, for this moment, they moved and breathed as one. Each cry they released came together, blended in a melodic lilt. 

"Harder," she commanded, softly. "I am not fragile."

He laughed low in his throat as he shifted his position into a seated one, propped up by the pillows on his bed. "I am well aware, ma da'sa. Indulge me in this? Unless you are in such a rush to be done already?"

Cheeks grew inflamed at his teasing, a reminder of the difference in their times. Love making could last days, weeks, or even years. She did not have the stamina to last for such a period of time. His laughter quieted as he teased a kiss upon her shoulder. She would endure, indulge in him, for as long as she was able. The day was not yet over.

"No, I am in no rush. I would simply like it if you would--" 

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands upon her shoulders as he thrust into her with quick and deliberate motions. She lost all her words, and only cries crossed her lips. She clung to him tightly, her nails dug crescents intohis shoulders. She met every thrust she could, but her legs grew tired, her hips gave out. He was content to lead as her mouth found his neck and teased there instead. 

" _Ellana,_ " he breathed her name like a prayer in her ear. It sent a spark through her that drew a helpless moan.

" _Ellana,_ " he pleaded against her ear, his voice strained, release close. 

Each thrust came quicker, messier. There was no rhythm, no beat.

"Give yourself into me." His words spoke with such clarity that she wondered if he had truly spoken.

"I have." She lied. She had given all that she could, and could give him no more.

His mana surged, sudden, filling her as he did. It thrust in as he did, drawing a scream that she could not hold back. Her breathing became a struggle as she reached her limits again, reached that peak he had brought her to again. She sobbed for him, clinging tighter and limiting his thrusts to a staccato. 

" _Please._ "  

He whispered sweet nothings as he thrust quicker, the words held a promise but she could not make out what he had said. He held her back from the edge until she heard her answering cry of 'yes'. Her name was upon his lips as he sent her over the edge. He followed her after, his cries blending with hers. 

She felt his lips soothe over her forehead, felt his smile as he did. She murmured something, breathed a sigh of pleasure. She was full of him as she drifted to sleep upon his chest.

The mark on her hand hummed a song that was only a whisper of what it once was.

Ellana dreamt of another time, a time where she first encountered a Magister who sought to become a god. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this... Took a lot longer than I had intended it to. But, I became extremely picky on sentence structure and the way it sounded. And, ohmygosh. It's been so long since I've written anything like this...
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I hope to have another chapter up next week.
> 
> Excuse me while I go burn in Solavellan Hell.


	18. Enlightened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, I had been trying to get back to a once a week update but I really did not like the tone of this chapter. I constantly changed the emotions, the scene, and finally came to an outcome that I felt was fitting to the flow of the story.
> 
> <3 I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

It was the sensation of fingers teasing through her hair that began to pull Ellana from sleep; her mind resisted, her eyes refused to open and she snuggled into the warmth of her lover’s body instead of waking. His fingers continued to trail through, teasing along her scalp until she sighed her pleasure. 

“Fen’allan,” the lilt of his voice pulled her away from sleep, the name on his lips a surprise that had her opening her eyes. She shifted, to tilt her gaze up at him and found him watching her with saddened eyes.

“You’re still calling me by that name?” She wondered aloud as she allowed her eyes to close again. His fingers traced a pattern upon her face. Curiously, they followed along the lines of where her vallaslin had once been. 

“Yes,” his voice held sorrow, regret, and guilt that she could not place. “I should not have asked as I did, and for that, I should apologize. I will save that name for when you grant me permission to call you such.”

“There are worse things you could have done, Fen’harel.” She had hoped to dispel his worry, but his form had tensed against hers, his fingers faltered along their path upon her face. Her eyes opened once more and saw the guilt that now overrun where sorrow had been. 

“Fen’harel?” She pressed when he said nothing more, when he did not smile nor pull his gaze from her face. 

“Have you-- What do you remember from before you came to exist here?”  

His behavior was odd, the question was stranger. His fingers continued their path along her face, down her chin, following lines that were no longer there. She wondered how he knew what path to follow… She hesitated further, to answer his question, to consider what to reveal, if anything. The whispers of the Well spoke softly, gentle reminders that details of what to come was nothing like a name.

“I remember… A bright flash of green. Magic surrounding me. I saw nothing but darkness. I felt like I was falling.” 

It was not a lie. There was truth behind her words, and an omission of the full details.  

Again, his worry did not dispel.

“I am truly sorry.” His voice broke with his sorrow, his regret remained in the depths of his eyes. She only found herself more confused for his behavior and his actions.  

“Why?”

“I believe it is my fault that you are here. I’ve pulled you from where you belong, where you should be.” 

It was his orb that had triggered the magic that pulled her through time. How, exactly, that would be his fault in this present rather than in the future was not something she could piece together. She lifted a hand to his cheek, cradling his face as he leaned into her touch. Her thumb soothed over his skin as she smiled up at him. 

“It’s fine. Things will work out.”

Because she would find a way back to where she belonged, and out of his life. The whispers spoke louder, a reminder of the library that she had so blatantly ignored. She sat up, slowly, breaking the contact between them for a brief moment so that she could be level with him, so that she could slip her arms around his shoulders. She brushed a kiss upon his lips and he did the same.

“I should go,” she whispered against his mouth and his arms wrapped around her waist. He drew her closer, lips teasing upon hers again.

“Not yet.” 

She laughed against his lips, “you’re the one who has me taking lessons. Har’enaste is not pleasant to deal with when he is annoyed.” 

Fen’harel smiled as he teased another kiss upon her lips, one hand lifted to twine into the locks of her hair. “Just a little longer.” 

She indulged him, indulged herself and melted into the kiss. She buried the thoughts and the guilt away, ignored the fact that she would leave. For as long as she was able, she would love him. Until it was time to cast her spell, she would love him. For as long as he would let her, until that time came, she would love him. And when he finally broke the kiss, she leaned into him, his forehead pressed against hers. 

“Ar la--“ 

She placed her fingers over his lips, to drown the words he should not say, should not commit to. Because it would be kinder in the long run.

“I know.” She promised as she slipped from his grasp, slowly. His fingers lingered for as long as they were able, until she was just out of his reach. “You needn’t give this words, ma fen.”

Ellana saw him smile before she slipped out of the room, the door closing firmly behind her. And once it shut, she began planning how she would evade Har’enaste to sneak from the temple, and into Arlathan’s library. She planned as she walked the path to her room, the steps quick and deliberate. If she were quick, she could be dressed and out of her room before Sul’assan arrived.

She pulled open the door to her room and was greeted by the sound of a soft gasp.

“Mistress! I… You’re early.” Sul’assan greeted from the wardrobe, turning to face her as she spoke. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red that kissed upon the tips of her ears. “I had thought you’d-- I was going to bring your clothes to Fen’harel’s room…”

Ellana could not help the smile that teased at the corners of her lips, nor the flush of color that touched upon her own cheeks. “Thank you, Sul’assan. You know, you don’t need to do all of this. I do not deserve it.” 

“Like I said before: I want to, I enjoy it,” she smiled, brighter than before, as she turned back to the wardrobe. She pulled a dress out from within, considering it a moment before she pulled out another. “I’m really happy for you and Fen’harel. You would watch him, you know. And he did the same.”

Sul’assan presented her with the second dress and Ellana shook her head in response, avoiding speaking of her relationship with the man. Guilt pulled at her heart, a reminder of her goal for the day. The opportunity slipped further away with each passing moment. She approached the wardrobe, instead. 

“I can pick out my outfit today, if you want to find Enansal for breakfast?” 

She could see the confusion work into the lines of Sul’assan’s face, the sudden caution that crept in, trepidation and concern making way. Guilt dug in like a blade and Ellana smiled a touch wider, to hide her emotions from even herself. “I have something I need to look into before my lessons.”

The concern upon the young woman’s face only grew, worry set in further. “I’ll let Enansal know.”

She made her way to the door, she paused once she had pulled it open and turned a final look at her, a frown almost permanent upon her brow. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

Sul’assan lingered at the doorway a moment longer before the door shut firmly behind her, leaving Ellana to the silence of her room. She drew a breath before she turned back to the wardrobe, pulling out a simple outfit used for her sparring lessons. She dressed quickly, pulling her hair back with a ribbon before she fled the room. 

She took the familiar path to the library, her steps slowly calculated. There was a high risk in taking the eluvian there; there was a greater chance of being seen in the library. But to flee the Temple entirely would have been impossible. She did not know where the Sentinels would be, and the safest assumption would be that they patrolled the perimeter of the Temple. 

Her pace slowed as she drew closer to the library, careful with each step she took, so not to draw attention to her rush, to avoid drawing questions or a gaze that lingered long enough to commit the sight of her to memory until it became known that she was missing.

As she reached for the door, the handle slipped from her grasp as another opened it from the other side. She drew back, to let them pass but stopped short upon seeing who stood before her. Dread filled her as quickly as adrenaline set in, the urge to flee great but she held her ground. She had not thought to check Har’enaste’s location, had not thought that he would be in the library.

“Fen’allan?” Surprise laced his voice as he considered her, “Your timing is… Remarkable. I had figured I would need to remind Fen’harel that he was the one behind your lesson plans. However, you are here and I am spared the need to argue. We’ll be starting early today.”  

He extended his hand, gesturing her forward, and away from the library. The whispers of the Well were distant, speaking softly ofhow the lessons were of little importance, how her obligation to this time meant nothing, would mean nothing. Curiosity, however, continued to get the best of her. She turned to follow his suggested path and he took the lead with ease.

“What are we doing today?” 

He slowed to glance back at her, a smile upon his lips that held a sort of pride,“We’ll be going over your duties in the Temple. Fen’harel believes that you’re ready to take on more as you’ve been progressing quickly. Each of the sentinels have given you nothing but praise in your progress.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and cast her gaze away from the man. She drew a slow breath to collect herself, to keep her thoughts from straying though the Well whispered. 

Too late, she was in too deep.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this… It hasn’t been that long. I still don’t know all that I should. I--“

He stopped walking and caught her shoulders in his hands. “Fen’allan. You are too modest. You have shown great skill in your magic. Additionally, you’ve made exponential progress in both your reading and writing, which are the skills most called upon for your tasks.”

One hand lifted to ruffle her hair; a smile teased upon her lips. He made her feel like a child once again, though this time, the feeling was not unpleasant. He soothed away the feeling of guilt for allowing herself to become swept up in the flow. He pushed away the whispers.

“Thank you.” 

They continued down the hall without further commentary, her pace carefully matching his stride. He lead them down the stairs, into the foyer and crossing it into the area of the Temple she had not yet wandered.

“The Temple is maintained by key figures. The kitchens are maintained by Bel’mae, you’ve likely seen her there and she tended to Enansal when you first arrived. Additionally, the nursery staff is under her guidance.” He explained as they crossed the room, “the library has a handful of volunteers who report to me, as well as those who tend to the gardens. If I’m not available, they report to Bel’mae.”

She nodded as he spoke, though her gaze wandered up the stairs towards the wing of the Temple that mirrored the one she knew. 

“The Sentinels report to Bel’dare, Elvarel, Ati’asha, and Bellanaris. Who, in turn, report to me..”

“I admit that I didn’t realize how much work went into maintaining a Temple.”  

Nor had she been aware of the little details of Skyhold, either. She knew little about the maintenance of her home, who kept the kitchens in order, who oversaw the things she had taken for granted. She knew no names nor faces, no stories of why they had joined the Inquisition. She knew about some of the soldiers as Iron Bull had brought her to sit with them, but she didn’t know about those who did not fight. 

This would change. 

“There are so many who reside within these walls. It is a safe haven for-- Well, we have many here and in order to ensure that all are taken care of, there are things that must be done. We could not expect Fen’ahrel to provide everything.” There was pride again, greater, this time. A devotion towards Fen’harel that shone greater than before. 

Ellana smiled for what she saw, for the feelings he invoked. “Of course. But, if we’re working with Bel’mae, why are we not heading towards the kitchen?”

“There is another who helps maintain the Temple. You’ll be working with him as you begin to learn, and then you will take on other tasks.” 

“Who?” 

Har’enaste gestured towards the stairs before he spoke, leading her up the identical stairway. “He goes by Midar. He maintains the inventory for the crafters of the Temple, and oversees that repairs are done when something breaks in the Temple.” 

They spoke no more of the man as they reached the top of the stairs. He gestured her to follow and started down the hall that would have lead to the sleeping quarters if they had been in the other wing and the opposite direction would have been the library. 

She had expected painted walls, but the halls were bare. No elaborate murals of tales, but paintings hung along the walls. Faces were carefully painted, no detail spared, shaping faces she did not know. She wondered who they were and why the paintings had lined the halls like this and not the murals of the other wing. She did not ask, however, as another question lingered at the tip of her tongue.

“Does Midar craft anything?” 

“No, not any longer,” the pain in his voice, the sorrow that twisted in a soft undertone, held her back from asking any more of the man.

Silence settled over them as they walked further in, sitting heavily until shedared to speak again. 

“Har’enaste?” Her voice sounder quiet, even with the silence around them. She must have sounded afraid, from the way he turned to look at her. He came to a complete stop, his gaze questioning, curious; he looked intrigued by the sudden shift in her tone.

“You don’t speak about yourself. How did you become Fen’harel’s chosen?” 

He chuckled, softly, before he turned from her and gestured her to follow again. She fell into an easy stride behind him once more, “I was wondering when you would ask. I followed Fen’harel when few others would, to see what this god was like. In truth, I sought to gain his favor in order to further myself… I learned, however, that was a foolish thought. But I was not the only one. The others who had sought to use him left when he decided to free the slaves.” 

There was no hesitation when he spoke his truths, revealed a nature that was less than savory, intent that was less than kind. She admired how he had spoken so freely, revealed himself to her so openly when she could not do the same, bound by thoughts of what could happen if Fen’harel were to know his future. To know the future of the People. 

“And that I stayed to help further his goals helped us reach an understanding. I was chosen because I stayed at his side the longest. I know his goals, his desires, and I would see them met.”

Fen’harel inspired such loyalty to those who followed him. Those who he had taken under his care within his Temple spoke only praises of him. Again, he opened her eyes to the fact that she knew so little about the man she loved. Again, she wondered what the wolf had done to twist theDalish tales into something so cruel when he was not that kind of wolf.

She had never seen anything to inspire such tales.

“Fen’allan… You look as if you might cry.”

His voice startled her from her thoughts. She caught him staring at her again, her cheeks flushed at the attention. Laughter came forth, nervous, bubbling. “You care for him greatly. It… Moves me. I am glad he is so well cared for.”

“You are a gentle soul, little wolf.” Har’enaste ruffled her hair yet again, “There is good reason for the loyalty and care given to him. He has more than earned it.” 

His hand came to rest upon her shoulder, a gentle guidance down to the end of the hall where the room that mirrored Fen’harel’s would be. 

That was the only thing similar between them. They came to stop at a door made of a deep red wood, carved by an inexperienced hand. Patterns of branching trees and their leaves spread across the door, and beneath the trees were many wolves. What inexperience lacked, passion replaced, easily seen in the care of the carvings.  

Har’enaste released her to knock at the door, the sound of it showed how hard and stubborn the wood had been. Even a skilled hand would have struggled to leave their mark. 

They stood in silence again, waiting one beat, two beats, three… Before Har’enaste pulled the door open and gestured her in.

Cautious, she stepped past the man, through the door and into the unfamiliar room.

She was greeted by a forest-like domain, more wilderness than room. Ironbark, as stubborn as it was, grew through cracks and holes in both the walls and flooring. It curved to fit alongside the ceiling, branches twisted along the walls to accommodate themselves amongst the environment even as they defied it. 

Despite what would be an obvious conflict, furnishings of the room fit alongside the branches and trunks, a unity somehow found between the two. And she was awed at the sight of the stubborn tree tamed, but wild, giving in to the whims of the room’s owner.

“Har’enaste,” a booming baritone suddenly cut through the air, from behind branches deeper in the room. “You’re late.”

The voice could incite fear in the weakest of wills, and even Har’enaste seemed to tense. The reason for the early start, however, was made clear by those words alone. 

“I apologize for the delay, Midar. Fen’allan is here now, she’ll be assisting you with inventory for the crafters.”

The Crafmaster emerged from behind the branches. He was a man that did not match the tone of his voice. He was a man who had been caught by the hands of time, unable to avoid aging as his brethren had. It was surprising, confusing. She had thought that even the elders did not age as he appeared. He was old, withered, and wrinkled. His eyes, however, spoke of a youthfulness, bright and unlike the elders of her time. They contrasted with his appearance of aging. 

She bowed low in respect, uncertain of how to greet him.

“You needn’t bow to someone such as myself, little one.”

Ellana felt her cheeks color again and both men smiled, but only Midar rumbled with a low laughter. “It is nice, however, to be shown such respect.”

The man came to a stop at a desk before them, almost hidden in the overall appearance of the room. Branches poked from it, leaves continued to bloom and grow. Magic touched it, keeping life within the shaped wood. The desk was carved in a similar fashion to the door, the work careful but still rather inexperienced. It was curious that a skilled crafter would--

Her gaze lifted to the man, focusing on the hand that rested against the desk for support. Fingers bent at unnatural angles, twisted, misshapen, broken and healed incorrectly. She stepped forward but caught herself as her gaze lifted to truly take in the sight of the man before her.

The wrinkles that she had thought been caused by age were not what they seemed. They were injuries, slow and cruel, torturous and then healed with magic improperly to leave their mark upon him. This action had been repeated, cruelly. His hands had also been victim to this assault, broken and healed in repetition.

Silence hang in the air.

Her mouth went dry.  

Nausea hit her in a wave. 

Tears stung at her eyes.

“Ah… She is a gentle soul. Compassionate. This… Creature of Fen’harel’s.” Midar spoke softly, the smile on his lips faint. He did not call her a creation as the others did. He knew. Yet, he continued and did not question her, “These wounds were punishment, da’len. A tale that no longer matters. I was taken in, given a place where I belong, and I manage to do what I loved, in one shape or another. Do not cry for me.”

It took a moment for her to speak again, before she could find her voice to speak, “Why?”

“Because the world is not kind and those who worship Elgar’nan allow their vengeance to go without seeking proper judgment for perceived wrongs. Let us leave it at that.”

He gestured Har’enaste gone, and the man departed with only a bow. 

“We’ll begin with learning the sheets. Then, we will take inventory of what we have on hand and ask what work will be done this week so that we can prepare for that as well as planning for any extras. You will be writing everything down today.” He smiled wide and she pushed away her sorrow, “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, of course.” 

“Good, now, pay attention. I won’t repeat myself twice.”  

Her lessons lasted well into the evening. 

She had dinner alone. 

And that night, she dreamt of a little boy, who lived in a village to the North. A little boy who was very skilled in magic with little to interest him but the spirits around him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Bel'mae's name comes from the word 'bel' and 'mae' in mother. My thoughts behind 'mamae' is that when spoken, actually means 'my mother' in stead of 'mother' alone. 'Ma' being mine and 'mae' being mother. As Elven seems like root words that are laced together to mean something larger, words can be broken into parts. Thus, 'mae' meaning mother and her name comes to mean: Mother of Many.
> 
> Midar's name is simpler. 'Mi' means blade. 'Dar' is to be. Thus, his name means: To be a blade. 
> 
> If there are other questions, feel free to ask. <3 Thank you again for reading!


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